beautiful liar wrote:Dear Claire,
I'm not speaking to you right now. I'm not very happy with a lot of things about you. I'm not happy about the way you've gained five pounds since the school ended, and ten since the beginning of the school year. You have a great job, a wonderful partner, and you still aren't satisfied. What does it take to make you happy? I can't stand how you have everything, and you're letting it all rot to dust. Do you know how irritating that is?
You know what else pisses me off? The way you keep thinking of death. I thought you were over that. And how come you're hording razor blades again. You don't use them. You're putting yourself in a bad situation right there. But then, you never could outgrow the angst, could you?
I'm annoyed with the way you can't stop crying. There's no reason for it; it's weak and pathetic, and all you do is make everyone around you feel bad. And stop avoiding the people who care; stop trying to push everyone out. Stop feeling so goddamned repressed. Stop trying to hide, run away, and pretending everything's okay. Take the help that's being offered. Stop lusting after loneliness, trying to capture privacy you know you'll only use to hurt yourself.
I hate you sometimes. You're a stupid, self-righteous, immature bitch.
So stop bottling everything up.
What happened to using the summer to write, to create music and poetry and art? What happened to your fucking dreams?
Why are you letting yourself become ordinary? I am so angry at the colourless, mindless drone you're becoming. You're losing yourself to the TV, to the bus rides, to the clothes that make you feel like a featherless bird; drab, silent, and uninspired.
You keep searching for something new; but you know you get tired of everything.
And I don't know what else to do for you.
Sincerely,
Your outraged self.
Claire dear, perhaps you should talk to your doctor.
I put it off for a very very long time.
But now that I'm seeing someone about my depression, I'm doing much better.