I haven't spoken to you in a long time, and I'm so sorry. I haven't written anything in a long time actually, because I can usually only write when I'm broken or in love, and of course I am right now. Not in love, though. More broken. And out of love.
Things haven't been good for a really long time, and it's okay because I've been handling it well, but I need to tell someone about it because if I tell someone here then they'll know everything, and I can't have anyone else hate me.
The more I am alone with myself the more I am scared of who I am becoming.
I don't ever think about how sad I was before; I don't mean sad as to what extent but more how I was sad. I'm not sad because I'm not loved and I'm not sad because I feel alone. I am loved and I'm not alone.
I think about greater things now. I think about suicide. A lot. And I think about the things I would leave behind. And i think about my friends and how I am everything I didn't want to be.
I used to want to be this. I wanted to be broken so that I could be fixed.
This is my reality check. You don't get fixed unless you're pretty or dying.
And I'm sad. But I'm not depressed. So no one cares.
I wish I could just start again.
But I have two terms left. Two terms.
And I will go to a place where no one knows about Issy. Where no one knows about my crazy alcoholic endeavours. No one knows about my loneliness and no one knows my secrets.
But isn't that scary? Because as close I am with some of these people I will never tell anyone else about any of this as soon as I move, and then no one will know who I am.
I guess that is my suicide. I will not be anyone. No one will remember me. No one will know anything.
But I like that thought. Suicide without suicide. This is my release.
