Dear 2020,


   “I know that this is going to be the last letter. Things have gotten worse, so much worse, and I know that I will disappear like I was never there. I never affected anyone much, really, I just got in the way, and caused people shame. I’ve caused myself shame. I’ve done all the wrong things, and I know that now I am a burden on my family. They have all gotten tenser since I was diagnosed. They have gotten angrier, now they fight more than they ever used to. I am such a burden on them. They don’t need me, all I do is disappear into my room and try to pray for God to **** me in my sleep or something, which obviously isn’t working. I’ve brought everyone's mood down. I’m sorry if I had seemed promising before, I will have never had much of a life at this rate and I know Sean can be”

   I don’t know what else to say. I believe in it all, except for the part about this being the last letter, but if I had written to you last night like I was going to then this is probably what I would have said. I instead used a crisis text line, which helped… for a while.
   I don’t like coming home anymore. I don’t think Connor, and the rest of them could understand, when it’s not abuse or anything, it’s just so unhappy here. Everything is tense, and it doesn’t feel like a home anymore. I am yelled at so much, and cut so little slack.
   I am eating again… way too much. And I’ve… found another razor head. After all that digging in my bathroom, I knew I would. But if I’ll use it… Oh, I know I probably will. Having my body hurt takes my mind off of my heart, which is why I also like P.E. Even know, with my hand wrapped up, I earn so much sympathy at school when Connor is really the only one who knows what really happened to it. Well, Connor, my parents, and you.
   I really don’t think my parents love me anymore. They had loved a tomboy, with long hair, extroverted, with skills at writing and drawing and who didn’t care whether people hated her or loved her. I am feminine, with a boy’s haircut that I don’t like to brush, introverted, with anorexic tendencies and no passion or skills at anything at all. And yet somehow my broken, hurting self-attracts people. Overall of my years in elementary school, three people had confessed their feelings for me. In this year alone, it has been five. What hurts is knowing that even those who I do like back I could never be a worthy partner for. The chance of my dying, lashing out at them, or simply deciding to ignore them as an isolationist technique to be happy is much too high, which is why only two of them like me now.
   I’m so tired. All the time. Even when I take naps (for instance today I fell asleep at Walmart) I am still extremely tired. I think I am just tired of being here. I want to go home. I say this a lot to myself, although I don’t really know where I mean by home. I think I mean this third dimension, one I’ve thought up myself. It’s the place I go when I sleep, or when I’ in my room by myself for a long time doing nothing. Sometimes when I say I want to go home I mean that I want to die, so that I could live in that third dimension forever. I would really like that.
   It’s called the third dimension because if my actual house is the first dimension, and school is the second, then that is the third. The rest of my world (Walmart, the castle, etc.) is just surrounding fabric of the first (and largest) dimension. But when I don’t want to be either at home or school, I want to go to the third dimension. Which is like death, and can be rarely mimicked from one of the other dimension. And even if I am homeschooled next year, I will not be able to escape the first dimension. So I need, and want, the third.


That is all I have to say, really, except that I am thinking of posting these letters on my Hello Poetry page, since I will never read them in 2020, and perhaps someone will find that I am relatable. Or stupid.


Love always,


Hollin

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,

   I was planning on writing you a letter that explained in my own words everything that happened this morning, but if you’ll please excuse me, then I won’t. I simply don’t feel like I want to relive such an experience through writing to you about it. I’m sorry.
   All that you really need to take away from this morning to understand where I am now is these things:
I started eating semi-normally again
Dad doesn’t understand/ believe in apps like Calm Harm and Breathe. He instead thinks that forcing me to work when I’m down works instead. He obviously has no idea.
When I’m really down, I check-out. (I will explain this in a moment)
Dad doesn’t really love me. (I know, I know. Obvious, right?)
School is now officially better than home.
I like ants and wish I had been born one.
Lo-fi hip hop is my new jam.
I forgot to take my medicine last night, and nobody cut me any slack. (My mom is supposed to remind me, but did she apologize? NO, she was just angry that I didn’t go to school today)
I didn’t go to school today but wish I had.
When I check-out my self-harm risk level rises dramatically
I don’t need knives or razors to self-harm.
My knuckles are greatly torn and the sidewalk is ******.
I can’t talk much when I check out, and self-harm makes me smile.
If I self-harm enough, I go numb.
I can’t remember clearly what happens when I check out and when I check out I lose track of time.
I think my dad called me an idiot.
I’m pretty sure that Dad likes Sean better than me and probably wishes I was more like him. So do I, lol.
I really don’t have any explanation about my knuckles. I don’t know at all what I will say to people at school, the doctor, or the therapists, or Ginger. My mom asked me why, and I just said, “I’m sorry.” (I was still half checked-out then)
The reason I was outside on the sidewalk at all is that Dad told me to go pull weeds.
After the knuckles, Mom told me to put on her gloves and I think I bled enough to ruin the leather forever.
My knuckles will probably be scared because they bled more than my wrist and that is scarred.
I never want to have a husband. I either want a wife or no spouse at all.
I am kind of scared of my Dad but hate him at the same time.
Dad acts like nothing is wrong.
I think Dad is angry because if it weren’t for me, he’d have a perfect, normal family.
I can never see men the same way again.
“Quit being an idiot. Do you feel better now, eh?”
About an hour after I checked back in, I had the worst and longest chest pain of my life.
I know I just basically told you what happened in the morning, but this way it doesn’t hurt as much to relive. Besides, If you're reading this then you probably already know what happened.



   Anyways, I cleaned my room. And I took down all the posters, art and stuff yesterday. I even turned my books the other way so that I don’t have to see the art on them. Sometimes seeing things with art is like a slap in the face, as if the book itself is saying, “Look what I can do, what you can’t!”
   The app called Calm Harm says that you should record when you self-harm and write what the trigger might have been. The first times it was because my mother was leaving. This time I think I was scared, angry, and suicidal, which are amplified when I check-out. I couldn’t get a grip on reality at all (hence being checked-out) and I guess this way brought (even if only a little bit) back to reality. But really, I don’t like talking about it at all. Especially not in person.
   I told Lauren this yesterday (from the 741741 crisis helpline) I don’t know how I would **** myself, but I know where. I would **** myself in the place that I used to go to be happy. I meant the place underneath the highway, on the neighbor’s property across the highway. Noone is ever there, so the police (when they went looking for me) would find my body, not my mother. And I think it is kind of metaphoric (Lauren called it philosophic), going to the place I used to be happy, so I can be happy one last time as I **** myself. But unless I brought my own rope for hanging, or gun for shooting or something, I could really only drown myself there (since it’s in the creek). And I’ve read about that, read that it is a horrible way to die and that it’s very hard too because your body is fighting against you and that if you fail, you could have serious brain damage. I am very scared of that, failing I mean. I would much rather use something I know would work, like noose or gun than something that has a significant chance of not working, like wrist slitting, drowning, of jumping. I’m sorry. This is a bit morbid, and I know I should write about them. But it is better to write to you about them, and get them out than it is to have them rattling around in my brain until I do them, is it not?
   I believe so.

With as much love as I can muster (which isn’t much),

Love,


Hollin Stewart

Dear 2020,
Still at Old Vineyard. I'm supposed to be leaving on Tuesday. This is later because I still think of suicide every day. I'm still very anxious. I'm still starving myself.
   I partially want to go home to Machaela, but I know I won't be safe. And I'm really better here, so I guess I'll stay.
   Love,
              Hollin

Dear 2020,
I want to die. I wish I could write that to you a thousand times. No one seems to take me seriously when I say that. I want to cut. I want to die. I'm so tired of dealing with all this, I'm so tired of my Dad, I'm not getting better, and they switched my meds. I can finally draw, but it's terrible. I wish I was dead. I'm so fat. And ugly. I have to starve. Maybe then I'll die. Probably not. I just want to go to the third dimension forever.

goodbye,
                 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

March 17, 2018
Hello future me,
Hello.
   How are things over there? I hope you’re doing better than me now, but knowing me, things probably ****. I’m doing pretty bad myself.  Mom and Dad are coming home from Gulf Wars today, but they're not here yet. And Chawnessey is here, but she’s sleeping.
   I have some personal things to ask you, but you’re me, so I don’t feel very bad asking them. Do you still have visible scars on your shoulder? Do they ask about them at the doctor’s? Can you talk freely about them, like Claira could? Or maybe you’re still like me now. Maybe you just got another razor, or a knife, and you’ve added to my collection of scars. I don’t want to think that that's where you are now. But I don’t want to get my hopes up either. *sigh. Do you have dreams again? I used to have dreams. Now their just distant thoughts and lost hopes. Do you know what you are going to do with your life? Right now, I can’t see anything about my future, but I don’t think it will be very great. This is your first year of high school, right? Are you excited? I used to be excited about high school. There are so many animes that take place in high school. But I know I will never be like those girls, They are skinny, they have friends, and they are happy. Doesn’t sound like me, am I right? Are you happy? I am not. Do you like someone? I think I may, but it so hard to see through this mist around me, like I’m in a continuous daze.  Is your hair long? Have you dyed it? I think about that a lot. About how much I hate my hair now. Do you watch anime anymore, or did you stop because of the hellish teasing? I still do now. It can make me laugh, sometimes.  Or put me in a worse mood. Are you still friends with Connor, or Sorayda? Are they tall? Or maybe you have new friends. Maybe you are popular. Probably not, though. Do you still draw? Asking this honestly scares me. I used to love drawing and art so much. It was my passion. Do you go to the art high school? That would be so cool… But that didn’t happen, did it? *sigh. I don’t think that happened. In fact do you want to hear what I think you are doing now?
   You are probably reading this on a different computer, because this one is going to break someday. You are reading this and probably either crying or laughing, because you are probably still so **** over emotional. If you are crying, it is because you are either in a worse place now than when I wrote this (hard to imagine, I know) or you are thinking about how much of a complete and utter wreck you used to be. If you laughing, it is probably either because you are happy know (even harder to imagine, right) or because of the cynical way I am typing this up. I think you’re room is probably a lot similar to mine now, except more pictures and maybe more posters or cosplays. You don’t have many if any friends, do you? I bet you are like Tomoko from watamote. I bet you are all alone in the middle of the night, reading this by yourself. I bet you are still worthless. I bet you still starve, still cut. I bet you aren’t happier than I am now, if not worse off. You go to therapy, don’t you? I knew it. And you probably still don’t have any idea what your future will bring. You are still depressed. And you still want to die. But now everyone in the family knows it. I wonder how sean reacted when he heard? When he learned that he will always be the stronger one, the one better off. He will always be the more successful one. And you will be the one who had potential. Emphasis on had. Its past tense. Leanne will be prettier, happier, more popular than you in college. Savannah will be wondering what happened to you, or she will have forgotten if you were ever happy. Xavier will be so cheerful, and make you smile softly and sadly. Ellie (from moms friends group) will be more popular, happier than you. Sophie will always be worlds and universes better than you ever could have been. Sarah will still be one of your favorite family members, but even she will know you’re different. Imagine how sad Mom is, how disappointed Dad is. In you. I hate you, but not as much as I hate myself. Do you hate yourself?
But after all of this, I have to realize…
Maybe you are dead.
Sincerely,

Hollin Stewart, from 2018.

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,
How are you? I am currently at Old Vineyard. I hope I will be here for a while... I do not think I will be ready to go home anytime soon, to be honest, and I also think about suicide a lot. I'm thinking I will probably go home earlier than I think I should. Of course, there is Harley's boarding school, but it is still school and it is still stressful. Of course, it is stressful even here. I'm stressed every day, all the time, no matter where I am. And it's depressing, especially when people talk about suicide and self-harm. There's an aura of hopelessness here... But why?

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 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.

Dear 2020,
   The only things I have eaten today were some peanuts and a few pieces of candy. I do not feel hungry, though. My stomach is used to this. And I shall not eat dinner.
   Meanwhile, I am thinking of writing a book about this place, and its wonderful children. I hope I will be able to.
   I want to go home, but I do not want to live with my Dad. I feel that relations have gotten even worse.
   I am looking forward, though, to seeing Sean, Machaela, and Ana. This renews within me the determination I keep.
                                            Love always, Hollin