Letters From You.

Letter 48.

dear life, 

I am bored so I choose to write. What about, I do not know. I only know that I am at a loss for words. I am completely and utterly confused. I have no thoughts, and I always have thoughts. This scares me more then my worst thoughts ever did. Because I know I am not over life. But I cannot think. That is what scares me the most. That I have turned into one of Margo's paper people. And although I know that nothing is ever okay, I still find myself hoping. Paper people don't hope. Maybe I should be a paper person. Maybe I should be a Writer, a Lawyer, a Doctor. I feel pressured to grow up. So I try to stay young, but I don't think it's really working. And I feel that I am at a loss for words. I wish I could go back. To before not having life debating thoughts would not have been a problem, the problem would be to have them. To before I had lost anything. To before they were wondering why I've gone away. Acting like your fine is the worst kind of depression. Not telling anyone you even feel this problem. You can't get help, you can't act hurt. When you grandma dies, the boy you love lies and says he's coming back, when your aunt is having a baby boy she can't keep, you leave all your friends to move away, your mom is dying, your dad is never home, your siblings drive you to the point of insanity, and all that's left is you, your laptop, your bed, the music, the night lights of insomnia, and your broken pieces. When life is a mystery you cannot piece together, you only know the cracked tale and the broken road with the jagged paths. You feel it doesn't get worse but remember the whole world has these problems. The streets we run that look empty are full of the broken people reaching for the thing none of us can see. I am not over but have come to terms with life, it is the realest thing I'll ever know. 

 sincerly,

insomnia