If you are reading this, I regret to inform you that you have stumbled upon the tale of someone who is, in every sense, a lost cause. My name, though it may hold no weight to you, is Eliza. And much like any protagonist in a story filled with sorrow, I find myself burdened by circumstances beyond my control.

In truth, I would not have chosen this path, but here I am, where the light of joy seems fleeting, and the shadows of confusion and uncertainty stretch long before me. It is said that the world holds endless possibilities, yet I have found only those that are cruel, each decision leading me further into the murk of my own complicated existence.

I wear my own sadness like a cloak, as if the very fabric of my being were stitched together by regret, missteps, and the weight of unsaid words. I am a figure who drifts, ever the observer, never truly belonging, though I may stand among those who do not see the distance I have come to know too well.

So, if you should find yourself continuing, know that I have given you fair warning: this is a tale not of triumph, but of the inevitable sadness of a life whose threads seem forever unraveled.