To Whom It May Concern.

Letter One

To whom it may concern.

Life has a way of taking away the control you feel you may have. Personally, I feel a prisoner to my own mind, bound by thoughts and forcing me into submission. "Submission" is a loose term though, and in the real world it looks more like me being lazy, staying in bed all day, playing excessive video games, starving myself and then binging or even eating barely anything at all.

My mind is fighting itself all the time. I'm left exhausted but unable to sleep, staying up until extremely late hours and sleeping through the morning because I pass out at 3am or later. My therapist tells me that it's normal with the symptoms I'm experiencing, but I feel like a freak. Despite knowing the statistics, I feel isolated, and talking to others is the hardest thing for me to do.

People wear these masks all the time around me. I can tell, but I choose not to say anything. Ignorance is bliss, right? I fear they tolerate me, but nothing more. What they think bothers me a lot more than I'd like to admit, because I don't talk to many people, I don't want to stand out when I'm in public, and most of the time I'm just in the comfort of my own home.

Of course, I use the word home loosely. I feel out of place, and I just want to get out of this town. It's a horrid place that I've been in too long, and it's not healthy for me mentally.

School starts soon though. I'll finally be going away, and I'm happy for that. While I do have my own concerns about that, I'll save that for another day.

The biggest thing I'm struggling with right now is self worth. I don't feel worth it, and things have just piled up over a very long time. Things that I should have long forgotten by now still linger in my mind. Memories that I try to suppress dig themselves up occasionally and upset me all over again.

These thoughts sort of personify themselves in my head, and they terrorize me. They're my inner demons.

I'm sorry if this has been a bit all over the place, but that's how my train of thought runs. It's why I've never finished a story; the ideas I have bounce around in my head, and I lose inspiration. If I forced it, it wouldn't feel natural to write. I write most things in the moment, because I generally decide where I want things to go on the fly, with a general idea of where I want the endpoint of the overall piece. The writing feels much more natural to me that way.

Anyway thank you for taking a read,

Cain