Dear Everyone.

I write this while I can't feel.
While I don't no, while I know I shall regret uploading this when a little
happiness come back into my life.
I don't know what to feel anymore, I'm so numb.
I've never told any of you about 'behind the scenes'.
I don't know where to start. At the beginning? No, never, you would be here
for years.
I'm not surprised if you don't even want to read what I'm writing now.
I write this with music blaring, so as my fingers type, but I don't know
what I have written until I re-read it.
This is like that letter Dana, the one I once read to you. I said I had
two. That I couldn't find the other one. Well, I couldn't, it was never
written, and it's been in my mind, all this time. Threatening to come out,
to tear what's left of my life apart, along with all of you.
There is a reason to why I've never told you anything, any of you anything.
Because I care to fucking much about all of you.
Dana, the reason why I bug you to come out with us, is because I don't want
to see me in you. And I can see me in you, which scares me, it really does.
Don't ask what I see because I don't even no.
I know you guys care about me. I shant deny it, but, why can't you show it?
I know it sounds stupid; I'm going to regret this as soon as I upload it.
I know that, but I shall still do it. As I know none of you will end up
reading this. And if you do, I'm sorry.
I'm sorry for caring about you.
It's the worst thing that could ever happen to you. To have me as a friend?
Yes, to have me here, in your life.
There's so much to say, I don't know what to say.
I'm not suicidal, although I do tend to lay in my bed with my pocket knife
resting upon my skin.Daring myself I guess.
I never would though.
So don't worry.
I hate myself for writing this, but I don't know what I'm saying. I shant
even re-read this, not ever.
I'll check for the little green and red scribbles underneath words. But I
shall never re-read it.
I know I shall get flames, try not to though. OK.
Words hurt, more than actions.
I'm sure everyone has experienced that.

This letter is true, every bit of it. As is a lot of my poetry. Scary huh?
Reality though. Pure reality, pure hurt and tears.
Purely me, only me.
I'm what you get, you can take or leave.
I'll warn you, better to leave. You'll only end up getting hurt.
I'm not perfect, I'm not the victim. We all are. I don't wan to sound like
I'm crying out for attention. But you guys need to know this, if you ever
read it.
I'd prefer if you never mention it to me.
Only do so if you must. Because by tomorrow, something good will properly
happen, and I'll be over this, until the next day.
The past has made me fragile, I know I haven't been through as much as some
people have been through.
But being bullied for my entire life, hasn't helped, neither has my dad or
most of my ex-boyfriends.
I don't want to go into descriptions. But being promised, and then having
that ripped away, hurts.
Having a dad which isn't a dad hurt, as with my brother. A friend who used
emotional black mail.
I've lost a best friend, because we couldn't resolve our differences, and
I'm afraid im about to loose another, and I know then I will surely die.
Not physically, but mentally. I believe that is worse.
I hate making you guys worry.
You shouldn't have to, that's my job. But I had to write this. I had to let
at least some of you know.
Nicole, than you for those words 'I know you're hurting to.' They shall
always stay embedded in my memory.
Katie, I know you're going through something. I know it's worse than me. So
I hope you don't take offence. But what I'm feeling is to much for me.
Dana, I know you've lost someone, my pain shall never measure up to that.
So again, sorry, but like I said, what I feel, hurts me.
Emily, I don't even know where to start. Everyday I know you face a new
fear, a new wall to climb over. I can't do anything for you, but be your
Erica, thank you for your help with Kyle. I know you talked to him, before
you told me. I was angry then, but now I am grateful. You helped me realize
he wasn't right.
Thanks for your help Rob. I don't know what I'd do if you weren't my
Jerry, thanks for bringing a little light into what was once darkness.
I could go on. But I can't.
There's not much point, since you properly shant ever read this.
I'm sorry to anyone who is offended by this letter.
Mostly written to myself.
I have decided to read it (But I am still not going to check over it; as
what I have written, is what I feel, along with the bad grammar).
As I no, whether or not you guys wanted to, you would ignore the fact that
I am depressed, I don't blame you ether.
I don't need a psychologist, I just need myself.
This is only half of it. I shall never write the other half.
It shall stay in my mind for only me to look over. I don't want to bottle
up my feelings anymore, so if I burst out crying, leave me. If I laugh,
join me. It's the memories which hurt, and always will. But at least I can
slowly get over them.
I'm sorry for being alive, but you'll have to put up with me for at least
another half centaury.

Feeing a bit better as I've got some stuff out of my system,
Signing off.