I want to die. Oh god I just want to die.

I can’t stay anymore and I just want to die.

I’ve been fantasizing about it more and more every day.

There’s plenty of pills at my disposal and I easily can. I really want to. I think that’s how I’ll do it when I actually do.

I keep hoping for something or someone to help. To make me not feel this way. To make it better.

I haven’t eaten more than and handful of food a day. I don’t want to. I can’t.

When I eat I cry and when I think about it I feel like throwing up. It’s stupid I know, but I want to be thin. I can’t handle her remarks anymore. I want it to stop. I want life to stop.

I want everything to just stop.



Dear Mother, 

I wish you knew how I feel right now. I wish I could tell you why I’m quiet all the time. I wish I could explain why I spend most of my time locked in my room. Most of all I wish I didn’t wish all these things. I want to be happy. I want you to be happy. I guess that’s why I don’t tell you. You notice when I’m acting strange when it’s a weekday. I know that on the weekends though, you couldn’t be bothered. I know you’re happy with him, I can tell you’re a lot happier with him than you ever were with my father. I’m fine with that, and I’m glad you’re happy. I never want to ruin that with something that’s wrong with me. 

It’s getting harder though, it really is. I’m very sad and when I’m not sad I’m angry. I don’t like feeling this way. I want to be happy again. I want to enjoy living again. I want to be able to sincerely smile about little things like a warm hug or cold pizza for breakfast. I really miss being okay. That’s all I want to be right now. I don’t want to be crying and sad right now. 

I start school in a week. I know you won’t remember until I tell you that I still need supplies, but I’m surprisingly excited for school. It’s not my favorite thing, but maybe being busy with assignments will help keep my mind off of certain topics. I can’t wait to see my art teacher, she’s always there to help when I start getting bad again. She’s teaching world history this year, I mentioned that earlier but I’m not sure if you heard me. Anyway don’t worry about driving me to school. I’ve got that covered. I’ll come home on my own as well, so you won’t have to be making the drive over there. I should go now, I’m starting to get sleepy.

I want you to know that I love you. I really do, and I’m hoping I get better before I ever have to tell you what’s been happening. I know saying all this is useless and that you’re never even going to read this, but I like to imagine you’d be understanding if you ever did.




Dear Someone,

I’ve decided to start making letters and putting them here. I don’t know if this’ll do me any good. I’m hoping it will at any rate.

So… I guess I’ll just get to it then.

I’ve been depressed for years now, and although it’s been quite severe, I’ve successfully kept it from almost everyone I know. A few people have noticed how I get sometimes and they’re inquiries have led to me telling them all about it. It’s funny though, the people who know are close and everything, but they aren’t the first people who should know about something like this. They aren’t family and I would only consider one of them a “best friend”, so the fact that these people have noticed before my family and the people I live with is… well, a bit shocking to me. I currently live with my mother and sister so it’s safe to say they’re the people I spend the majority of my time with (not that I like to). The point is that they never ask if I’m okay, if I’m feeling alright, if I’m still alive. They’re both always to busy for anything remotely relating me. I mean, I’m not complaining. I actually like the alone time that comes with family like them, and I prefer being ignored by them over being made fun of and hurt. Nonetheless they haven’t found out, which is actually a good thing. I don’t know what I’d do if they knew; they’d somehow find a way to blame themselves and I definitely wouldn’t want them to do that. I already feel bad enough for never telling them how I really feel. I’d feel worse if they came to think it was their fault.

I don’t think it’s anyone’s fault. Nobody’s to blame for how I’m feeling, that’s just how it is. That’s just how life is. Sure I could go around blaming people or events in my life for my depression, but depression is a mental illness. Any sort of mental illness, no matter it’s severity or lack thereof, doesn’t need a reason to be present.

Oh… I just went into a bit of a tangent about mental illness. Sorry about that. Anyway I guess this was a bit of an introduction from me to you, whoever you are. I’m not sure if anyone is even reading this, but I don’t know, I guess it’s nice to just talk to someone.