Letters You'll Never Read {Charmie} (RE-WRITE)

04/17/xx ⟡

IT'S ME AGAIN. It's sort of become a habit for me to write down what I'm feeling when I'm feeling it. Soothes the mind, I think. Is this a pathway to healthiness? I hope so. I'm tried of being tired.

Sometimes I read these back and feel bad. If you were to see this....god. You were never one to pity, especially not me because you knew how much I hated it, but. You would internalize it. And I hate the thought of that.

...
Pauline tried to drown me the other day. Well maybe not drown, but more so forced. Pauline forced me into the shower. I didn't really put up a fight, though. I needed one after all the time I spent without. She's a good sister...but she could have been a little more gentle.

It felt good, though. To be clean and fresh again...a part of my brain wills me to keep it up. Maybe if I treat my body better, I can move on to doing the same with my mind.

But my body is weak and it always has been. And there simply isn't enough will to pave a way.

I literally tried to throw up the other day because the pain in my stomach was eating me alive. Like some ravenous beast pawing at its gut to lurch something out—keeping anything down for long is hard, but the hunger is never ending. Nothing came out, but that was granted because there was nothing there to spew. Eventually I fell asleep next to the toilet.

I'm pathetic, aren't I? Whining and complaining about you, when I've got so much to be thankful for?
...

I sometimes wonder how you're doing, against all provisions I've made to keep you out of my mind. I ignore all your texts and calls. Why?

I dunno. It's....easier? Yeah, easier.

I don't have much to say. Being an actor, you'd think I could pretend as if everything were okay and actually be productive in my day to day. Figures acting would fail me when I need it most.

But you always used to say that, right? Good actor, bad liar. It's not that I need to go out and act, it's that I have to go out and oppose my personal feats and appear as if I'm well put together — and not hanging on by a thread.

I missed two photo shoots, said I was terribly sick. Brian was a little mad. Would you care? Would you notice my absence? Would you be worried? I wish I could answer those questions, but I also can't imagine the hurt it would bring me to know.

...
My thoughts haven't been as active the past few days. I feel, sort of, numb. A ghost in my tiny, cramped apartment, wallowing over something or the other. Sometimes I think about nothing, and I sit in utter silence. Somehow, the silence both kills me yet, keeps me alive. It's strange, and patronizing.