Letters to you

Dear Kristen,

     I'm ignoring my phone today, the best I can. I have an essay I should be writing... but instead I'm writing a new blog... Named after you. I still hold onto our memories, perhaps even why I still consider you my friend. I'm sorry. In truth, I've been a horrible friend. The entire time. Lies. Lies. My whole damn life. Girl.... I need some fucking help. I don't know who I fucking am. And truth; how could we ever have been friends if I don't know who I am? How could I have had any friends at all?
     I pray that God will save me. I pray that Macklemore will save me. I pray that one day I will find some inspiration to draw, to finally be me, but who is this "me"? I haven't drawn in months, it's breaking me, and yet, I can't find the inspiration, I can't find the feelings. Girl, how do I feel? Fucked. Used. No. No.
     Sick. I feel sick all the way down from my stomach. I get headaches, and stomachaches. Blaming it on coffee or indigestion. Nope. Blame it on the the guilt. I have fucked over everybody that I know. You, my parents, my sisters, every fucking person I know. I have lied about everything, to everybody. I've lied. God save me. How though? How?
     Sometimes I think about ways to cut my wrist, where to hang my body, what and how many pills to swallow... but man, I could never have the guts. So instead, I suck up the guilt with the sponge of dick and weed. How do I change who I've always been?
     Every since I can remember, I've dreamed of my real family coming to take me away to our castle. I dreamed that I was a princess and the none was worthy of me, and that this family I was living with had stolen me, and made me live as a stupid mortal with them. I've hated my family my whole life. I used them, I put them down. I tore them up, I lied to them every moment I had, about everything. How do I change something, someone, who's been doing this since she was five fucking years old!? How? I need some help. I don't know where to look. I've tried dick, I've tried drugs, I've tried friends, I've tried lying to myself of who I really am, I've tried drowning myself in music, I've tried drawing, Internet, man, the list in endless. What is left? Suicide? I've been contemplating since I was eight. I tell myself nobody would miss me. But that again, is a lie. But I couldn't imagine why they would miss me.... I've used them. I've used everybody. Girl, don't miss me. I need some alone time.
     Sex is going to fill one hole, but not the hole in my personality. Not at all. I wish I had realized that before... I wish I still realize that... I'll probably go back to that drug of choice; dick. I am a whore. But who am I really? Really. My facebook is lying. lol That's who I wish I were, who I am pretending to be. God please fucking save me. How!? I'm not broken. I'm alive, but drowning. Drowning in my lies, and in turn drowning the guilt and my conscience to shut the fuck up so that I can keep on lying.
     I'm dizzy with guilt. I hold myself up with another lie, another smoke, another cake, another dick. TELL THE FUCKING TRUTH. Try that. Try that. Try that.
     You are beautiful. If you let yourself be. "Love yourself. Figure out who you are. You were not put here, created by God All Mighty to be a whore or loser."
     I wrote that on my leg this morning before I left. I need a reminder. How bad is that? Or is it how good? One day at a time. I need you Kristen. I miss you so much. And I'm sorry. I can only hope that one day you will forgive me.
     These are my letters to you.