This isn't a letter about how I died committing suicide by a gunshot against my head. Or how depressed I am in need of professional help. It's about how I already died without my body being six feet underground. You see, my body was different than anyone else's. I couldn't love because once upon a time I loved too hard and ended up alone. I trusted someone too much and ended up being touched. I took words to the heart and ended up killing myself without actually dying.