Noone's really here actually. Noone's telepathic. Just like now, noone knows or listens while I type this broken-heartedly. I'm not taken seriously whenever people are told that I am upset. Point is, depression in me has come to a stage whereby I'm harbouring suicidal thoughts again, after estimatedly half a year of a suicide-free life. People tend to take what I say for a ride, like a meer passing remark, without knowing that people who appear happy all the time, do get the blues. And I'm a born pessimist. Every teeny weeny promise made were just stack of lies, and I've taught myself not to believe any longer before I get myself burned further in this game of Life.

I wrote a letter to Marion. I wrote that I missed her. I even added the part where the evil no-life stole her bastard boyfriend, and that I prayed they would break up a hurtful one.I wrote about the devils in my life now scrutinizing and manipulating me day in and day out. I wrote about the hatred building within me for my sister, who should rightfully have her tongue cut so she will shut her gap for the rest of her being. Fighting all these demons will kill me, I swear it will. I might just as well kill myself and beat them to it.