Emails To No One

Chapter 2

To: noonesaddress@gmail.com

From: alexiamay@gmail.com

RE: <no_subject>

Hi, this is kind of sad but...

I don't know anymore. What is the meaning of life? With my Dad, I thought it was love. With Jam, I thought it was friendship. Now, it's only emptiness and misery.

We were best friends, but after his 'incident', he left me broken. Unfixable. "When it's broke and you say there's nothing to fix", that's my life. Broken beyond repair.

But then I found music. It's my safe haven and my personal bubble. When I sing or write, I am in 'another world', it's my world, my music. I love writing songs, they're probably awful and no one would ever listen to them but I guess it's the concept that writing them makes me happy – rather than making other people happy. It's pretty selfish when I phrase it like that. Maybe I will send you one. Maybe in the distant future.

Music is beautiful. I wonder what you listen to... I think there would be an overlap somewhere. I listen to a lot of music. At the moment, my favourite song is More Than This (One Direction). I wish I knew yours.

I wish a lot of things. I'm a sucker for wishes to be honest. And most importantly, I wish for someone to save me from this hellish nightmare that I'm living. I want to wake up from this terrible dream and hope that someone will be here to comfort and hold me. That's a pretty far-fetched wish, I know.

It's a distractions and distractions stop me from thinking and that kind of helps me be happier.

So, that's why I'm emailing you. I know this address doesn't exist and that no one will reply and maybe that's what I want. Maybe I'm wishing upon that tiny, tiny possibility that someone will. I don't know. I don't know a lot.

With love forever,

A M

I shook as I was typing the letter. It was difficult to write, difficult to admit, difficult for me to read back to myself. It was a distraction, not a good one but one nonetheless.

And all I really needed now was something to distract myself from my thoughts. Endless scenarios and "what if" moments floated around in my head reminding me of my worthlessness. It's scary because I don't have anyone to reassure me and I don't have anyone to tell me I'm worth more and I don't have anyone to tell me that it's going to be okay.

And it's repetitive and biased and just not true when you tell it to yourself.

As for the wish thing, it's very true. As I child, I have many memories of sitting outside with my mum wishing upon a shooting star but now every wish seems to be upon a plane or a satellite and nothing comes true. I wish I was a young and as naïve as I was then. Now, everything is so sad and hectic and there's just so little happiness in my life.

I try to create my own happiness, I really do, but it's so difficult when all people want to do is bring you down and kill your good vibes. I don't understand their obsession with hurting me! I never did anything wrong, did I?

I try to help people and love people but I'm just scared of letting anyone in now because they'll just break me apart the second I lower my defences. I'm so alone and it hurts so much.

Maybe that's why I wrote that email... In the hope that someone would reply and be my saviour and pull me out of the black hole of depression that I'm being sucked into and am struggling to escape from.

After I sent that email, I was drained of energy. Shaking as tears run silently down your face and sobs rake through your body and you try so hard to muffle the sounds you might make and stay still takes a lot out of a person – so I really needed to sleep.

I don't really have a proper bed, it's more an old mattress on the basement floor, but I must learn to appreciate what I have. That's what Anna always tells me. I'm just a pathetic, ungrateful child.

And when I learn that I am nothing more than that, then everything will be better. That's what she told me, anyway. And because I am so insignificant, I can only agree with her harsh words against me.

But the bed is uncomfortable and the linen is itchy but at least it's something and that's what I have to remember.

I'm lucky in some aspects. At least I have a house and I have shelter over my head and I am here breathing. That's something.

Besides, however hard life gets I know that suicide is not the answer.

How do I know? Look at the One Way or Another video. I am much more fortunate than those children, but what am I doing, I act like a spoiled brat. It's true that I am selfish. I am complaining about my life when some people have nothing.

But they're happy, they look happy with what they have. I don't. My eyes, sunken into bags under them and my arms littered with colourful bruises and the occasional red cut mark.

There's one big detail about me that I haven't mentioned. I don't talk, and I don't think I will again. Before you ask, it is a personal thing, I can speak I just choose not to. And there is a reason too. I stopped talking after James, it was easier, and I just became known as the 'mute girl' not the 'girl whose best friend committed suicide'. I'd much rather be known as pathetic and crazy and depressed that be reminded every day that my best friend, my beloved Jam, tried to kill himself and I didn't know anything about.

It also means I don't have to answer any questions for anyone. But it's a big thing that the bullies pick up. They seem to find all my imperfections: my weight, height, face, voice, friends, family, grades, and selfishness. It everything about me that they hate. It's true what they say though. After a while it gets to you and now I kind of believe everything they say, it's all so true.

They know everything that brings me down and everything that destroys me inside and everything that I can remember when I'm trying to find a reason to live.

Isn't it sad that I don't have many?

And maybe that's why I love music so much. Songs that tell me that I'm beautiful and that I am loved. They save me more than any 'Diana', and I will never be able to repay any of the artists that have, so far, stopped me from leaving this cruel, cruel world.

But even with them, sometimes it's not all okay, and that is what causes me to write a song, or something along the lines of that. My most recent, inspired by the regular events of my everyday life, is probably the saddest yet:

I could dig a blade

In deep into my skin

But an empty promise to a friend

Is what's stopping me?

I could grab a rope

And a curtain rail

And hang myself from it

Cos there isn't no-one

Here who's going to miss me?

I'm a reject, nobody loves me

I'm pathetic, people stay with me for pity

I am ugly, and will never be beautiful

People, they say to me

Why don't you kill yourself?

The world will be better without you.

I know, it's kind of sad, but it's true. The world doesn't really need me. Does it?