I’m transcribing a series of handwritten letters I wrote, but never sent. Read the previous letters here.
Are you high, or can you talk? You know I used to come up with excuses to talk to you, but they had to be official so you wouldn’t know. I want to tell you right now – I’m crashing. I’m crashing. I can’t make it stop. I’d been doing so well. So damn well. What if I can’t stop it again? What, are you going to be there?
Dammit. I trusted you. Why am I so screwed up? It’s not fair. Why isn’t it fair? I want to be able to trust – not cling. Instead I’m just disgusting – clingy and disgusting. And I’m going to turn into my mother who doesn’t care and who’s fault it never is, if your feelings get hurt, when your feelings get hurt.
Dammit. You know what? I only ever liked one of your songs. The rest were crap. There. And you’re crap at explaining stuff. And you’d hate me if you knew me, as I do. I was myself with you, for a moment. Me. I don’t show it to anyone, not anymore. You rejected it. You got rid of me without a couple thoughts. And that hurts. It hurts so much. I don’t have anyone to be me with anymore. I’m facades all over again, you bastard. I almost got through the whole day.
You left me. But, I want to be able to stand on my own. I don’t want to need to depend on people. It’s not fair.