To Anyone That Cares

To All of You

Do any of you reading this care? And I don't mean about these letters, I mean about me. Like if something awful happened, would any of you shed a tear over me?

It's hard for to write these letters, you know? Because I can shake these awful feeling telling how awful I am and how useless these letters are. It's like I'm drowning and everyone around me is watching, but they aren't helping me. That's what of feels like.

But none of you care. My therapist says these feeling should have gone away by now, and yet every time I walk out of her office I feel more alone then ever. She says that it's good for me to write these and that I need to let others read them, even if it's not the person they were intended to be for. And I guess that's where you all come in, if anyone is even still reading these. Because I honestly feel alone.

I wanted to tell you I'm sorry. I'm sorry for screwing up and this not being what you www expecting. God I'm so fucking sorry. I didn't mean it. Really I didn't, and I would do anything to change it, but I can't. And that kills me.

I've spent my whole life getting kicked around and used and I'm so done with all of that shit. I've never wanted anyone's pity or tears or money. I just wanted to be normal. To be carefree like everyone else I see. But I know that's never going to happen again.

I understand if none of you want to read this anymore. I do, really. And I'm sorry, again, that you all had to listen to this shit.

I love simple things. Meaning I love cold water, a good books, a freshly sharpened pencil, and most importantly I love to write. I'm trying to get better, okay? So I'm still going to see a doctor and a therapist and I'm still writing these letters and trying to forget the past. And it's the hardest and loneliest thing I've ever done.

And who knows? Maybe I'll never get better and I'll only become worse and worse, letting my demons take over me. But maybe, just maybe, I'll get better. It's that piece of shredded and lonely hope and keeps me alive. Without that hope I'd still be with him and I would've jumped off that roof and I would've done so many things that could've ended all of my pain right then and there.

But I didn't. I don't know how this scrawny piece of hope did this, but it did. I'm sorry for saying all of this to you. It won't happen again, I promise you.

I'm so sorry,
Elizabeth Lynn Martin