Story cover for S w e e t S l o w D e a t h by chocolateisawesomex
S w e e t S l o w D e a t h
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  • WpView
    Reads 65
  • WpVote
    Votes 1
  • WpPart
    Parts 2
  • WpHistory
    Time 22m
Ongoing, First published Oct 06, 2014
Hey Cole,

I know you are wondering where I am by now and I am sorry for this coming to you so late. 

Truth is, that I wrote this letter for about the hundredth sixth time, I know, I counted. And to be honest, it took me some time to grow balls big enough to grab the pen you bought me, the one with  strawberries on it and start to write this damn letter to you. 

And even if this is the hundredth sixth time that I am writing this here, I still don't really know where to begin with.

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤


I'm so bad at descriptions, sorry. I promise that this is good though!:)
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Loneliness. Depression. Broken. Scared. Devastated. Hopeless. Mournful. Disheartening. Bleak. Joyless. Somber. I have no one. Depression and Loneliness are the only things I feel. My family tries to make me happy, but I just put on a fake smile and cry about it in my room. They act like everything is alright, but everything is not. They KNOW I was devastated about Mom's murder. They KNOW I was heartbroken about Dad's sickness that eventually killed him. That's all I've thought about. Devastation and heartbroken. Just because of those two things. Never in my life I have been this devastating. Dayton, Hayden, Angel, or Monica know how to make me truly happy. Not even my own siblings know how to make me show a real smile. Suicide is all I can think about day to day and I've almost died because of that. DEPRESSION IS A REAL THING. NO ONE KNOWS HOW I FEEL EVERYDAY. NO ONE CAN JUDGE OTHERS ABOUT DEPRESSION OR EVEN MAKE JOKES ABOUT IT BECAUSE ITS A REAL THING. DEPRESSION HAS KILLED PEOPLE. EVERYONE IN MY LIFE JUDGES ME JUST BECAUSE I DON'T SMILE, LAUGH, HUG, OR DO ANYTHING NORMAL PEOPLE DO. I CUT MYSELF, I CRY, I YELL, I VENT, I PUSH PEOPLE OUT OF MY LIFE. Those are the things people are worried about me. "Go kill yourself and join your parents in hell." They say and I just shrug it off and find a private place to hide and cry it out. "I CAN'T DEAL WITH LIFE ANYMORE!!!!" I say and I use my sharp nails and cut myself then cry some more. A gun is buried within my arm for defense from my dad, but I use it in case I am tired of society. Then that's when I met the Host Club. They saw my sadness and made me a part of it to repay my debt for accidentally breaking a vase. I am now a Host for men to flatter them, but how can normal guys want me to be a Host when I wear lip earrings, eyeliner, chains, and have a gun in my arm? I'm the definition of Hell. Then he made me smile again, something that I thought I would never get back. Happiness.