July 4th, 2017
Worthless.
That's all I am. I can't make anyone happy, not even myself.
I don't know how.
Clueless.
I don't know what to do.
I can't make myself happy anymore.
Things are going downwards, spiral.
I thought things would get better.
Disappointing.
I'm sorry I can't do anything right.
I'm sorry I'm always bugging you.
Annoying.
Constantly, I'm all over you.
I'm sure you're sick of it.
Stressful.
I probably stress you out, a lot.
I'm sorry, for that, I know you're going through a lot.
I just want to help you.
Scared.
I can't live with myself.
I have spent countless nights in my bed, crying.
The voices in my head won't go.
Nothing works anymore.
Weak.
I rely on others, and put my trust into people I shouldn't.
It only ends up in me being hurt in the end, though.
Stupid.
I'm not like everyone else, clearly.
It's silly, really.
Unimportant.
I'll always be everyone's second choice.
I don't feel special.
I'll never feel special.
Clingy.
I can't sleep anymore.
I spend half of my days awake talking to myself.
I bug you and double text or spam you.
It makes me feel like shit.
But I know you have better things to do than talk to a useless fuck like me.
YOU ARE READING
Letters to You
RandomThis book is strictly from my mind, of letters I write to myself or other people. No names or any personal information will be given out about anyone, it's just something for me to calm down and vent indirectly to people.
