Sloane, [DISCONTINUED]

f̶i̶v̶e̶

Dear Sloane,

    You know what I am? A huge fucking loser, that's what I am. I mean serioiusly what the hell is wrong with me? It's pathetic, really. I know how much you love Lana Del Rey, but honestly these letters sound like her songs. All this 'I would die without you' and 'I'll always love you' nonsense. I've realized that it's a really unhealthy way of thinking.

    I've decided to sober up; drowning oneself in alcohol and self-loathing is no way to live. I lost my job a week ago but yesterday I saw a for hire sign in the window of the cafe down the street. The one we used to go to Saturday afternoons. I think I'd have a good chance of getting the job if I applied, Mrs. Jefferson always loved us. It would be nice to work there.

    I've been writing a lot more, too. I guess hating the world is a really good driving force for creative writing. I mean I'm still not in a place where I really love my writing but I like it a lot more than I used to.

    I've always been one to ask for more. The problem is, I don't work towards getting more (if that makes sense). I moved to New York because quaint Michigan life wasn't enough for me. I've always demanded more from the ocean. Most peope will look at it admiringly. But I always look for something else; the reflection of a beautiful sunset, a glimpse of life beneath the shimmering surface. The ocean is just so deep and mysterious, how could you not ask for more? But I'm digressing. My point was, Instead of waiting for more, I'm going to get more.

       I want to fall asleep with a head full of stardust, Sloane, and wake up with sunlight draped around my mind. I'm such a negative person, I'm so cynical and I see the worst in every situation, but that's going to change. I don't have fun because I don't want to.

      I think I've finally realized just how capable I am. Of anything. Of everything. Think about it, I pushed you away, I'm the reason you left, that was all me. If I can ruin my own life in just one night, I can turn things around. It'll take longer than one drunken evening, but it'll happen. These hands will only do as much damage ad my mind allows them to do. I'm done with moping and drinking and complaining and crying. I'm going to get up, get a job, get published. I'm going to work for the life I want. You only get as much as you give, that's my constant problem. I don't put in effort, yet I expect everything to just fall into my hands. I've been doing that for twenty five years and look where it's gotten me.

     This probably sounds quite bitter. Well it is. But I'm bitter towards myself, and no one else. For allowing to live my life this way for so long. Things are going to change, I'm going to change.

   Wish me luck,

                          Jeremy.