Dear Dawson

Dear Dawson-28

January 3.

  Dear Dawson, sometimes, I choose not to breath just for a moment, to hold my breath just so I can get a small taste of what it's like to die.

I stop before I actually die, but sometimes, my face turns a sick blue and I'm tempted to not stop, to choke myself and finally be rid of my sorry excuse for a life.

Is that sick? Am I sick?

Maybe I am, and maybe that's why it's so hard to wake up. It's become hard for me.

I can't wake up in the mornings without wishing I was dead. Its become a routine.

Wake up, wish I never woke up, debate if I should go back to sleep, go back to sleep.

Although, Conner sometimes convinces me to actually wake up.

And, even though I really don't want to, I do it for him.

Because the smile that lights up his face makes me happy, makes me feel something other than dread and sadness.

I don't know what is happening to me. It feels like I'm melting away and no one is even taking notice.

How long is until I'm just a simple puddle of what used to be?

Love,
Kindley.