Letter to myself: 1st September ’17

Dear Eliza

I’m stuck for words. I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t know what you should do.

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I know Eliza, I know. I also know that you don’t want to kill yourself. I know that even though at this moment it hurts so much, its 2.41am. I know that you don’t know what you think. I know you’re confused. I love you. I’m sorry it hurts so much. I wish I could wave a magic wand and, hey presto, it will all be different.
Using seems like the only option. Using even if it’ll mess with you. Or ruin your body. Or kill you. I know you don’t want that. And yet, it also seems tempting. When the merry go round doesn’t stop. Which, it never seems to do. Eliza, you can do this. I don’t know how. I wish I did. I don’t know what your options are. I wish I did. I just know that you can do this. I’m proud of you. I’m with you. I believe in you.

Eliza

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