A letter from May 11, 2025

Third one, wow. Hey me, happy 16th. Doubt I'll make it but okay. Today is sunday, 11th of may, almost midnight. The final puzzle piece left you, now your life here is over. You'll lose everything. Look, I'd say I love you and then say what I gotta say but right now I don't. I mean come on. Relapsed a few days ago, was happy, and now this? Okay *******. Yesterday you went out with Max and you made up. You're friends. Today, that ***** *** two-faced piece of **** ******* ***** Milica left you. With a half-assed voice note. Okay, doing great so far. You told your girlfriend not to text or call you. That was the breaking point. You had your first official panic attack. Good job! You called up Lana, she took you to a roof (great choice for someone who should be on suicide watch) and she helped you through it.. kinda. You mom called you too. Your sister was busy. She eventually made it better, you blasted Will Wood and screamed insults at Milica off the roof even though nobody could hear you. You got home and immediately stopped feeling. Anything. You opened your phone case and looked at your shiny best friends dressed in orange branded paper. You relapsed. You did it again. You failed yourself. You failed everyone. You're contemplating suicide right now and fighting tears. Is **** better? I ask that every time but is it? Did we even ******* make it? Don't know why I'm writing this if I ******* plan on ******* myself. Yeah just you go ahead and cringe at this. Sensitive piece of **** with no empathy. No, no, sorry, you do have empathy. Not for yourself, though. **** you. -Alec, 2025. Stop trying. It's over. They've won.