Dear 2020,
   Today we drive to Boston. I type this very quietly to you as not to disturb anyone sleeping in the hotel, like my father, who continues his slumber although it is almost seven A.M.
   But I mostly write to you today about the thoughts I've been having recently. More thoughts that I would be better off dead, plotting thoughts of killing myself, and yet an abundant fear of death.
   These are not the only thoughts, though. I also have overwhelming powerful thoughts of reverting back to my anorexia, giving in to its seductive calls and potent warnings of gaining weight because I eat. The thoughts tell me how disgusting I am, how no one will ever love me because of that fact, and says that Machaela's rejection of me is only proof that I am disgusting and my overall worthlessness.
   Oh, yes. I suppose I didn't tell you how Mahchaela rejected me again, the only difference being this time that she was sure of herself. How she keeps inviting me to things with a halfhearted tone, which I suspect if the result of being forced to invite me by Ana and their father.
   So yeah, my life has definitely taken a turn for the worse and I worry that when I go to see my next psychiatrist, therapist, or whomever I see next will simply toss me back into the hospital for suicide risk and then back to Old Vineyard I'll go. Because almost nothing is actually helping me cope. And I still believe that I will simply **** myself in a few months, or years, therefore not having a long life. I have believed this will happen for the entirety of the last year.

Love always,

                         Hollin