dear violet ➳ andy biersack (currently editing)

2 - edited

Dear Andy,

This is the second letter. I promised myself I'd only send one.
I'm eighteen.
My name's Violet Sharp.
I think way too much, I care way too much and I just might be a loser.
At school they laugh at me because of how I dress; how I only wear baggy black clothes, dye my hair every second week and read all the time. I get the typically unimaginative insults thrown at me:
"Emo nerd." "Fucking freak." "Waste of space." "Goddamn weirdo." "Lame-ass emo garbage."
Occasionally they leave them as notes on my locker, when they're in the mood. I haven't gotten cornered or punched in a while, which I guess is a good sign. Maybe it's because I stopped dying my hair.
I stopped doing a lot of things.
I don't speak, eat or take up any space at all anymore. I've begun leaving my books, band shirts, earphones and eyeliner at home, as well as almost every aspect of my personality.
I worry so much about what other people think of me. I'm sick of being a waste of space. I need them to stop hating me.
I'm terrified that I'll end up alone, or even more alone than I am now.
I think there's something terribly wrong with me. Your music is the only thing that seems to accept me. It saves me, understands me.
And on the off-chance that you are actually reading this, I'm very sorry for sending you such an overly personal self-pitying letter. It was supposed to be a thank you note. 

I love you despite having never met you,
Violet