Dear Erin, 23.08.15
It's been a while, I'm sorry I haven't been writing to you lately. At first because of the moving I didn't have time to do so, but then it grew to me being scared. Scared that if I write to you I'll get worse, but right now I couldn't give a flying fuck if I was to get worse. I miss you, Erin. You are my everything. Nothings the same, California isn't the same as home, the people are different, even my parents are growing strange. I'm not sure what's going on. Before I left, your father gave me some of your personal belongings. I hope you don't mind, but I kept some. One of which was your diary. I haven't brought myself to reading it yet, I don't think I'm ready. Those notes you wrote me are copied onto nearly every belonging of mine. I can now relate to those messages, just I'm not sure if its that same way as you meant.
Mum has forced me to go to therapy, the therapist keeps telling mum nothing is wrong with me, simply because I am as happy as ever. How bad is that? Even my therapist can't see through my mask that holds how the real me is feeling. How does the real me feel? I really do not know anymore. I have these voices in my head, kind of like the ones your father was telling me that you had. They are terrible. I hate them, but they some how turn that hate onto myself. They make me feel like utter shit.
Is this what you felt?
Love you to the moon and back,
Michael Clifford
YOU ARE READING
Risk ☣ m.c
FanfictionIt's time to take a risk, sweetheart. - She was a time bomb, bound to explode. And he was a nobody, hidden in the crowd.
