Letters to No One

Letter 1

Dear You,

Why does it hurt so fucking much.

These voices inside my head won't go away, but keep getting louder, every single damn night.

I wish I could hear the sound of your angelic voice, telling me that everything will be okay, even if it's not the truth. You always had away of making me feel safe, in the darkest of times. In the times when my hands would tremble uncontrollably and I couldn't form a coherent thought in my clouded mind.

I wish I could feel your warm, deep, uneven breaths against my pale skin. My cracked, scabbed lips whisper your name, when I've lost hope, sinking to my bony knees, salty tears streaming down my face, makeup smearing on my face, an array of colors painting a picture across my puffy cheeks.

I'm afraid to look in the mirror, to see the me whose eyes are a deep cherry red around the rims, sagging with black dark circles underneath. I haven't slept in days, my eyes burning with lack of rest. My parched throat stinging from dehydration.

My nose rains with a deep shade of crimson, pouring down in to my mouth. The taste of metal, fills my mouth, causing me to gag. As I remember the blood that spilled from your veins, my stomach lurches, turning as if my life takes place on a never ending twisting roller-coaster spinning upside down, and getting stuck halfway, only to continue on the treacherous ride of life.

The past few days have been utter hell, not knowing. Not knowing if my life may change forever, not in a "good" way. Not knowing is worse than knowing, because then you can try to do something about it, instead of waiting, for news you may never hear.

My head pounds, and my heart breaks, every time I think of you. I never knew that something could hurt so much, emotionally and physically. People tell me I'm faking, that I am just an attention seeker, who wants to be pitied. Well, fuck them. They can think what they want to think, but that doesn't mean that they're right.

Some want to help, others want me to leave; some want me to live, others want me to die; some want me to be happy, others want me to live in a living hell. I think you see my dilemma, now. Decisions don't come to me easily, which is why my most common answers are "I don't care" or "I don't know".

The guilt is slowly eating me alive, making me jump at every corner of my life, afraid that I may say something that will hurt you even more, wreck you beyond repair. I can't keep hurting you. I won't keep hurting you. Although, I feel as if I'll hurt you whether I talk or not, our thoughts mysteriously combining, reading each other's minds with a simple glance.

I am so fucking sorry.

I miss you, so fucking much.

Why? Why, do you do this? Why does it hurt?

I'm terrified to close my eyes, scared of what lies hidden in my mind, afraid of what will haunt me in my dreams as soon as I fall asleep. Anxious, scared, afraid, terrified, confused, hurt, embarrassed, over-exposed, ashamed, idiotic, stupid, ugly, skinny, freak, regret.

Yours truly,

Me, the girl who has had one hell of a roller coaster ride, and continues to ride it