Forgive me if I fail to come to you soon. I am longing for you. It’s like a craving. The craving to put myself in your arms and walk with you, holding hands and a fire in our eyes. I might talk to my family, day after tomorrow. I don’t know what I will say and tell them. I just want to be out of Here anyhow. I trust my family that they will come. I received packets of biscuits from the director. What should I conclude of this? I even asked to ask anything I would like to have from outside. What are they trying to do? I need my family. Someone come! Help me! Take me out!
I am surviving, dear. It does not mean I am alive. Love and pain makes me alive. I cannot say that I can’t help the way I am. I can help. I need people I could trust, blindly. I fear I might lose you. If my feelings cannot tell me what I am then, what good others could tell. I will be out soon I feel. I will reach out for you. I am inside you. Keep my fire alive in yourself. I will see you soon.
I am making stories all day. Thinking about writing, helping, and you. Align the stars to me with you. Don’t lose your hope about me! Don’t!
I am waiting. I have patience. I have to keep chanting some thought each time I want to sleep. You can call me high-functioning. It stays with me, my love, on depression.