Here is a little girl
With dark lashes
And eight-looped braids
Her limbs as
Thin and white as bone
She’s shivering in the cold
Of her thoughts a
surging, raging ocean, a dark horse.
Her face downturned violently,
As if she had no neck,
She swings with the breeze of
A thousand cold breaths
Her breast cold, as if
She hadn’t any heartbeat.

Here hangs a little girl
The subject of damnation by
A hundred harsh thoughts,
A thousand cold shoulders,
And the godless hell in which she resided.

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

Dear 2020,
   When I write to you I now have to keep in mind that it isn't only strangers reading my letters. It's Ian, too.
   So, from now on, being honest will probably be harder than it used to be. And I may not write as much as I used to.
  I got some poetry today, carefully sneaking out of the library a book of collected poems by Sylvia Plath, although my mother doesn't want me to read them (she killed herself when she was around thirty).
   And I got some reading glasses because my some of my numerous medications make my eyesight worse.
   So it sounds like I coping well with my condition, and life is going on as it always should have. But it's not.
   I still have those thoughts, I still tye nooses around my neck and I still feel like I'm crawling across rock bottom. And most of all, I hate myself. I don't feel worthy of any love or attention, and it hurts my heart when someone says they love me, although of course, I want people to love me. It's just that although I want them to, I don't feel deserving of it when they do.
   And my allergies are getting worse. I now can't eat apples, peaches, watermelon, blueberries, or bananas. I don't eat meat either, and I'm thinking of cutting out sweet things from my diet because I'm unhappy with my appearance, as usual. So in the end, is it worth eating anything anyways?
   Part of me wants to die and be forgotten forever as if I were never here. The other part is terrified by this thought and wants to be remembered as someone to tried and failed, not tried and gave up. Both parts want to die. But, I should keep positive, right? Maybe then my life won't **** as much as usual.

I wish I could just cut everyone out of my life with a snap so that no one would have to bother to attend my funeral when I die and pretend to be sad.


                                             Love always,
                                                                   Hollin

Dear 2020,
   Yesterday I proved that you can make a noose out of a belt if it is long enough. And yes, it will hurt for a moment before it tightens, but isn't that deserved? Yes. I fastened it around my neck and pulled, just for that choking feeling. Now, that feeling haunts me.
   And I keep writing suicide notes, but I don't really like any of them. Then I thought, why am I bothering? These letters are my suicide notes! They show perfectly my anguish, my feelings. They show that better than anything else I could write.
   I... I am scared of death, somehow. Although I seem to want it so badly. Wait. Wait, no. I have to stay positive, remember? I promised myself and someone up above that I would stay positive in the hopes that then... yes. I shall stay positive.
                                            Love always,
                                                                   Hollin

Dear 2020,
   I leaving Old Vineyard today! Therefore, I am feeling like a ten and wanting to jump for joy! I am so excited. I will be able to see Machaela and Sean again! I will be able to watch anime again! And read books that are actually good!
   But... I won't be able to see Harley, Shana, Mackenzie, or Tamia again... You better not forget them, future me! Hahah. I may have some of their information, though. lol.
                                         Love Always, Hollin

Dear 2020,
   I am going to leave tomorrow! But that's kind of the only good news...
  But then, I will be able to call Machaela! Woo!
                                      Love always, Hollin

Dear 2020,
   I should be discharged on the 29th. I must keep this in mind. Only two more days. Only two more days. Only two more days.
   I can't be that long, right? It'll fly by, especially since tomorrow is a holiday and I don't have school.
   I wish I did have school, though. Then the day might go by faster. And I hate how thinking about it makes it take longer. Oh well...
                                           Love always, Hollin

J.K.
I am so bored!
I want to have P.E.