Letters from Dumbo

I don't want to say or write anything because I don't want to give you the pleasure of knowing that I feel like complete shit. Not because of anything in particular. I just do. My whole situation is a bit much to handle for me alone, and the only thing that I can hope to do one day is to lay in a wooden box where I wont bother anyone anymore. Ultimately, this is golden for me. My pain, physical and emotional will all go away, to not bother me or anyone else. Wouldn't this be grand?

I think so.

I'm sad because I thought that I would do something amazing, or at least be part of something grand. Now, I'm just as good as dead. I've wasted my life with useless satisfaction. Turned my own self into the worst enemy I've ever had. Oh, and how I pay for it. Maybe this will even raise a smile from your lips.

These cats are the only ones who love me unconditionally, and that kills me inside. Knowing I had you once, and now you are gone to never be seen or experienced by me again. You, the woman of a thousand faces, with a million smiles and three thousand reasons to stay away from me. If only I had known better than to get anywhere near you, at least it'd only be me who I'd hurt and blaspheme against. Still it wouldn't change the fact of what I deserve.