Despite the fact this may seem bizarre, I felt a need to write a letter to a younger me.
To the beautiful, compassionate, little angel that was once me:
You began life with a battle that had to be fought, won, and fought
Once again this week has passed with blurry days and the nights mostly consisting of tears, futile wishing and longing.
My brother said he was actually coming home tonight. I actually get excited when he says he is coming home and if his plans change my mood plummets in a second. I feel pathetic, childish and desperate because of it. I want so badly to…initiate a hug but I feel like, with most other hugs—as rare as they may be—I may breakdown or seem clingy.
My dad had to attend orientation for his new job. When he came home, he was telling us how nice his benefits would be…how much nicer would it be if they didn’t have to worry about me? What would their life be like if I hadn’t been born?
Sometime yesterday I began to think what it would be like if guardian angels actually existed? If I came close to making a bad decision, would something benevolent stop me? A hero or a Good Samaritan? Despite seeing my psychologist today, I still feel depressed. It’s strange how when seeing her on a weekly basis, things will just numb and become mundane. However, when I cancel an appointment—next Monday—I begin feel the weight of depression. I haven’t been feeling like writing nonfiction, such as a blog. Immersing myself into a fantasy world—either through my writing or a book—has sounded much more appealing. Then when resurfacing must occur, I feel like I’ve come crashing back into reality…where pain is ever-present, my heart is empty, my mind is racing and my psyche is constantly at war.