Wednesday,May 23
S told me that people care about me. As if. She told me that I shouldn't cut. Nor die. So I have a message for her.
My dearest, S (77776663334442),
Yeah,life has been pretty shit like to me. I told you about this story so I wouldn't have to tell you all this fucking shit I've been going through. You..kinda seem like you don't care about this though. When I told you that I have cut my thigh,you only cared about if I washed it. Yes,I did. I cut in the shower with a razor.
I saw that you were happier when AB came back. Maybe,I don't really matter? I can't help but think that. You know. Sometimes,it does seem that way. Like,I don't matter.
You joke about depression at school. It makes me feel empty. I feel like a bomb about to go off any minute now. And,when I go off,I don't have to be in this hell-hole of a world anymore. I've talked with M about how I feel when people joke about depression. She agrees.
That will be all S. I don't ever expect you to write a letter back. But,if you do. Say how much of a southern mother fucking democratic republican I am.
Love,your son of a bitch friend,Cambria.
I use music to drown out the world. I hate how much of a bitch it is.
Do you ever think when you die,will you ever be spoken about again?
Light tomorrow raley comes.
End of Entry:4
-Cambria
ČTEŠ
Maybe Tomorrow
Literatura faktuWill tomorrow be better for me? Can I stop screaming for help and not make any noise at all? Can someone see I'm actually broken? Can I actually be saved from this darkness and controls me? This is my diary. This is my life. This is my depression. ...
