Dear Max,
My life is completely fucking wrecked, not even weed can make me feel better.
I should've known better that to let someone else in my life after you fucked me over. I should've known that it was my destiny to be alone my entire fucking life. Maybe I deserve this pain, I deserve to be unhappy.
I actually hurt myself, Max. I cut myself, and I know it's a hella fucking stupid thing to do, but I couldn't stop myself. I cut my thigh 3 times with a blade I pulled out of a pencil sharpener and I hate to say it, but I felt so much better after I did it. Maybe I shouldn't tell you any of this, but who else am I going to tell? If I keep it bottled up I'm going to explode, at least that's what the therapist says.
I'm just so tired of being lonely. I wish you understood, but you probably have a million friends in Seattle or at least enough for you to be able to completely forget about me. We were best friends and had been for 8 years. How can you forget me so easily? Why am I still sad you left me after all these years, knowing I'm shit to you?
I just don't know anymore
Chloe