marilyn / c.h.

him; done.

mary goddamn lynn;

i'm just going to stop writing to you. it doesn't help any more. i feel like you're trying to make me kill myself. 

ashton told me that you're fine. he says you've found a new boyfriend and got a cat. he also says you've read each and every fucking letter i've sent you. out loud. to your asshole boyfriend.

it's been hell these past few months without you. obviously, it's much different for you. you have the perfect boyfriend whose jokes are probably funny, who probably isn't a suicidal little bitch like me, who has actually eaten in the past two months. heaven knows that i haven't.

i want to be like you. i want to be loved, accepted, smart, funny, beautiful, everything that you are and i'm not. i want to be perfect like you. shit, i probably sound fucking mad. i'm sorry. i'm sorry a self-loathing, worthless, pitiful, fat, ugly little piece of nothing loves you and you couldn't answer a simple question. 

i heard he laughs at my letters, at my condition. yes, because depression is a fucking knee slapper. anxiety is a walk in the park. anorexia takes the fucking cake (no fucking pun intended. tell your little boyfriend that). 

well fuck you. fuck you and your fucking fancy boyfriend. i'm madly in love with you, that won't change.

despite all of the pain and heartbreak you've put me through in the past three months, i can still wake up and say with all of my being that i love you. i love you i love you iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou. 

-cal

gif isnt calum again sorry