Writing To Abigail


Abigail was my best friend.
She disappeared one day and never came back.
Well that's what they want me to think.
But I know what happened.
You gave me the note, and promised to meet me again in heaven some day.
I write letters to Abigail every day, hoping maybe she'd read them, maybe she could help.
Sometimes I can feel her, but she's not here.
Abby, please save me?


11. July 9

July 9,


I like scratching my arms real hard. No one knows what I'm doing then. When I panic. When I'm nervous. When I'm hungry. When I'm sad. When I'm ready to die. Scratch until skin breaks. Scratch and no one thinks twice about it. Scratch until you see little freckles of blood. Scratch until you need a bandaid. Scratch and it doesn't count right? Scratch at school. Scratch around family. Scratch at the mall. Scratch. Scratch. No one notices. No one really knows what I'm doing. I don't actually itch. I just want to relieve the pain. I just want it all to stop. But I can't stop now. No matter how much I want to. My only wishes right now is to be thin and to die. I want to look good for my casket. I think everyone does. People I've never met in my family before will see me for the first time. People who I never really cared about will look and wonder. My family will notice how thin and beautiful I look. Even though I'm a corpse. However so beautiful. A cold body, with open wounds, gorgeously lying there. Waiting. Waiting to be shoved six feet under.

Soon to be beautiful, Tori

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