I'm sorry.
I'm sorry, I'm sorry to you all. I'm sorry to my mother. I'm sorry to my daddy. I'm sorry to my brother and my two sisters. I'm sorry to my dogs. I am sorry to my friends.
I'm sorry to my teachers. I'm sorry to you all. And most of all, I am sorry to myself.
Sorry to my little self when I was young. All those dreams and hopes we had that I now let burn and die. I'm sorry I couldn't just fix everything and make it right. I wanted too; I really did. I'm sorry to my babushka that I never got to have a relationship with, though that was not my fault. Even though it feels like my biological father tries to make me feel bad over his own mistake. You are the only person who I don't owe an apology. You can live the rest of your life letting your mother die without having a proper relationship with me. That is on you. Yet my heart still breaks in two when you write about her loneliness. And my pictures bring her joy, and that I became her beloved one from the first message about my birth. I am so sorry to all. To my babushka. That I never got to learn how to speak your language, never got to truly learn how to let the words flow from my mouth. I am so sorry, and perhaps I should have sent pictures sooner and not be so petty. But this is who I have become to be.
I am selfish. I am mean. I am worthless. I am careless. I am a disgrace. I am the worst. I am stupid. I never should have been born. I am a traitor. I am a coward. I am a liar. I am truly not worth anything. I am a disappointment to you all.
I don't want to do this thing anymore. I don't want to play this game. I want to vanish. I want to cease to exist. Because I cannot carry on with the guilt in my heart. The heavy pressure on my heart. It feels like it could explode any minute. I wish that it did. That it would end my misery. I have had trouble getting out of bed. Feelings of anxiety has happened more frequently. Suicide thoughts have appeared on a much more regular basis than ever before. A wave of depression that washed across me. I believe that my body is trying to tell me something. I believe it's telling me that my time is up. I hope so anyway.
The façade of it all. The beautiful façade that we all put up. Look at how I changed since the end of September. And we all know why. And granted, it did start because of him, but it developed into something living on its own as well. But I cannot help but feel that it shows me conforming to the façade which I so much despise, yet I might put up the greatest façade of them all. Well not the greatest, yet I still put up a façade. Now I added make up on my face to really sell the part. And I believe that it has worked.
You, you were fun. You meant that I had fallen in love with you. Maybe. But I honestly do not know if it was love that I felt for you. I do not know if I am capable of having such feelings. As sometimes, I feel so distant to feelings and what they are, yet sometimes I believe to feel empathy for others. And my sense of righteousness. You did make me happy. You made me forget about the world for a second. Perhaps I only needed you as a distraction. Either way, you are incredibly hot. And even though you complained about me thanking you, here it is one last time. Thank you.
I wish that I wanted to go on, but perhaps it was never my destiny. This might just be where my story should end. I got my 18th birthday. So that's something. I lived to have a great night. But now I would just get old and die. Why don't I just take a shortcut and greet death at the end? I loved my life. But I have fallen out of love with it. It feels like it's time to break up. I guess that naturalism (literature naturalism) was right. We can never brake out of what class or situation we are born in. And to that person who asked me if I was ever worried about genetics and depression. Well, is this because of genetics? I believe that I said no. But I might be a first-hand testament to depression and genetics. Of course, you must factor in the environmental factors, nonetheless I might have depression and mental health problems because my mother has it. And my mother's mother had it too. I recently heard that my sister got burnt out.
I never understood how letters or notes like these could be so long. Who writes almost nine hundred words to say two simple things. Two things that I would like to say;
Sorry.
Goodbye :)
I'm sorry, I'm sorry to you all. I'm sorry to my mother. I'm sorry to my daddy. I'm sorry to my brother and my two sisters. I'm sorry to my dogs. I am sorry to my friends.
I'm sorry to my teachers. I'm sorry to you all. And most of all, I am sorry to myself.
Sorry to my little self when I was young. All those dreams and hopes we had that I now let burn and die. I'm sorry I couldn't just fix everything and make it right. I wanted too; I really did. I'm sorry to my babushka that I never got to have a relationship with, though that was not my fault. Even though it feels like my biological father tries to make me feel bad over his own mistake. You are the only person who I don't owe an apology. You can live the rest of your life letting your mother die without having a proper relationship with me. That is on you. Yet my heart still breaks in two when you write about her loneliness. And my pictures bring her joy, and that I became her beloved one from the first message about my birth. I am so sorry to all. To my babushka. That I never got to learn how to speak your language, never got to truly learn how to let the words flow from my mouth. I am so sorry, and perhaps I should have sent pictures sooner and not be so petty. But this is who I have become to be.
I am selfish. I am mean. I am worthless. I am careless. I am a disgrace. I am the worst. I am stupid. I never should have been born. I am a traitor. I am a coward. I am a liar. I am truly not worth anything. I am a disappointment to you all.
I don't want to do this thing anymore. I don't want to play this game. I want to vanish. I want to cease to exist. Because I cannot carry on with the guilt in my heart. The heavy pressure on my heart. It feels like it could explode any minute. I wish that it did. That it would end my misery. I have had trouble getting out of bed. Feelings of anxiety has happened more frequently. Suicide thoughts have appeared on a much more regular basis than ever before. A wave of depression that washed across me. I believe that my body is trying to tell me something. I believe it's telling me that my time is up. I hope so anyway.
The façade of it all. The beautiful façade that we all put up. Look at how I changed since the end of September. And we all know why. And granted, it did start because of him, but it developed into something living on its own as well. But I cannot help but feel that it shows me conforming to the façade which I so much despise, yet I might put up the greatest façade of them all. Well not the greatest, yet I still put up a façade. Now I added make up on my face to really sell the part. And I believe that it has worked.
You, you were fun. You meant that I had fallen in love with you. Maybe. But I honestly do not know if it was love that I felt for you. I do not know if I am capable of having such feelings. As sometimes, I feel so distant to feelings and what they are, yet sometimes I believe to feel empathy for others. And my sense of righteousness. You did make me happy. You made me forget about the world for a second. Perhaps I only needed you as a distraction. Either way, you are incredibly hot. And even though you complained about me thanking you, here it is one last time. Thank you.
I wish that I wanted to go on, but perhaps it was never my destiny. This might just be where my story should end. I got my 18th birthday. So that's something. I lived to have a great night. But now I would just get old and die. Why don't I just take a shortcut and greet death at the end? I loved my life. But I have fallen out of love with it. It feels like it's time to break up. I guess that naturalism (literature naturalism) was right. We can never brake out of what class or situation we are born in. And to that person who asked me if I was ever worried about genetics and depression. Well, is this because of genetics? I believe that I said no. But I might be a first-hand testament to depression and genetics. Of course, you must factor in the environmental factors, nonetheless I might have depression and mental health problems because my mother has it. And my mother's mother had it too. I recently heard that my sister got burnt out.
I never understood how letters or notes like these could be so long. Who writes almost nine hundred words to say two simple things. Two things that I would like to say;
Sorry.
Goodbye :)
