Dear somebody,

my therapist told me to write to you.
She said it would give me sight,
make me see what's wrong in my life.
But, I can't see.
I'm blinded by the words they throw at me,
I can't hear because the voices keep telling me,
let go.
I'm drifting.
Trying to lift my arms.
But, I can't.
I try to shift,
but I'm frozen.
Is this what it feels like to be chosen by death?
To feel the breath of darkness on my neck.
To look sorrow in the eyes.

Is this how it feels to live?
'Cause I don't feel very **alive.