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

Tomorrow I turn eighteen.
I’ve been living my whole life hating the fact that I was born
And I could’ve sworn that I wasn’t gonna make it this far
I’ve done my fair share of harm
I’ve popped bars and I’ve let loose
I’ve downed my weight in ***** and juice
I feel as though I have tried it all,
I don’t have very far left to fall
I’m tired of the world making me feel so **** small
I think this might be my final call
Eighteen years have come and gone,
In a hell that went on for far too long
I don’t think this is where I belong,
And I don’t think I’ll be around to hear my birthday song

Every breath I take reeks of calamity
I start counting the biscuit bunnies I had yesterday.
which sadly reach up to eight.
Not my favourite number at all
I look like an exploding fireball
but despite that everything is dark
and ruddy.
like the insides of a trash bin .
My hands are clammy,
throat, a jammed highway of emotions!
If I used ten thousand oceans
as ink, and a million deserts as parchment,
I would be unable to describe my pain
for it was born a torchering antagonist,
a piece of congealed blood in my lungs
and my breath reeks of calamity.

I lay here,
Beaten and defeated.
Losing hope like its blood rushing out of me.
As i seek shelter from this feeling,
I find comfort.
Love,
At least i know that i can feel,
It's better than breathing.
I find comfort in the same thing that is killing me.
Defying the line i crossed many years ago,
I promised to never feel this way again,
But even broken promises hurt.
I started breaking promises before i started breathing,
Or my heart started beating.
Before i could walk,
I could think.
I could think of everything that is wrong with me.
That list goes on and on,
And as i lay here,
Thinking of everything wrong with me.
I decided to give up,
And with giving up,
I became happy.
I gave up in trying,
Breathing,
Feeling.

I gave up feeling,
Without feelings
I can breath,
I can walk.
I walked back into those lines i defied long ago.
And that's where you were.
I woke up on the hospital bed,
Half beaten,
Dying.
I laid there feeling alone.
Every single feeling came rushing back.
No one came running back at the sound of my heart beat,
Or my gasping voice.
You didn’t care,
When you saw me lying on that cold hard ground on that unpaved road,
You didn’t help,
You saw me at my lowest state,
Yet you didn’t love me then.
My broken heart yearns for you.
Yet you don’t want me even breathing around you.



I never learned to live without that feeling.
The feeling of betrayal,
Hopelessness,
Brokenness.
I forgot how i felt so at home in these feelings.
After losing you,
I felt alone.
Barely alive.
You crawled under my skin and made me uneasy.
Every day the unbearable pain you gave,
I couldn’t feel the same.
This hospital sheet itches at me like you words cut through my walls.
You made me uneasy,
Every thought of you killed me inside.
With every thought i became more and more careless.
It was like hell,
But on Earth it felt worse.
No one care enough to save me from this place i came into.