dear sal,
dr. armisen is not helping me. i know she will read this, but i don't care. it's true. i am just as sad, just as broken, just as shattered, as the day you left. no one believes me when i tell them that i can't get better. i can't. because the only person who could possibly help me is you, sal. i think that's why i'm still doing this stupid exercise. it makes me feel a little bit like i'm talking to you.
so i'm going to do what we used to do with each other. i'm going to tell you about my day.
since you've been gone, i had to leave school. i had to go to a hospital. i don't want to talk about that. or why it happened.
today, i woke up and wrote down my dreams, like they tell me to. i dreamed about you again. you were killing me. with every stab from your knife, i lost more blood. but in my dream, the blood was bad. it was evil. i didn't want it in my body. i liked losing it. the more blood that poured out of me, the more i smiled. you were smiling too.
dr. armisen read my dream. she told me it concerned her. but i don't find it concerning. the dreams where i'm dying are the best dreams. it's life that's the nightmare.
after breakfast, i had a visitor. i don't like talking to people. i can always tell what they're thinking, and it's never very pleasant. but my visitor today was anne. you remember anne, sal. or maybe you don't. anne is my sister.
there were no parents. anne shook her head, as if she could tell exactly what i was thinking. "i told them not to come."
i didn't say anything, just looked at her, but she knew i was thanking her.
she nodded.
we didn't talk. instead, anne gave me papers. letters from her. that's what we do. she knows i don't like talking.
you were the only person i could ever talk to, sal. and i haven't talked much since you left.
i miss you so much.
yours,
isa.
