Writing To Abigail

**THIS STORY MAY BE TRIGGERING TO SELF HARM AND EATING DISORDERS!**

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?

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1. June 17

June 17, 2012

Abigail, 

You're the only one who ever knew the real me. You're the only one who helped me from all this pain and suffering that I've been going through. But you left. You fucking left me, all alone, battling life. You gave up on me. You gave up on yourself. I'm sorry... It's just sometimes I blame your death on myself... I mean it's not totally my fault right? I mean the note you gave me the night before you died... You didn't say it was my fault.. You just said you couldn't handle living anymore..

Please don't haunt me or anything, but I like James. Yeah I know you dated him and loved him and he broke your heart and whatever, but I think he's pretty sexual looking. I'd fuck him. Not like you fucked him anyway, so I don't think you actually did love him, actually that's probably why he broke up with you. You refused to have sex with him! I'm figuring out the answer to the puzzle pieces babe, I'm going to figure out everything that you weren't able to while you were here with me.

I'm starting to write to you because maybe you'll read them, or help me or something, because I need help. Everything's going bad again ever since Derek dumped me. Yes, I like James, but Derek, killed me basically. He told me I could leave and never come back because he never wants to see my face again. But I should have been the one yelling because he was the one getting trashed every night, that's another situation though.

But what I was getting to is how everything's getting bad again. I cut myself last night. I haven't cut for 92 days! I broke my good streak and now my thighs have beautiful yet ugly red and maroon horizontal slits going down far. I counted them, and there's 134! It's not that bad I guess. I needed to though. I needed to clear my head. And it was either that or overdosing on Vicodin. But you wouldn't approve that. You'd make me purge it up anyway. I still hear you, I still listen as you can tell. 

Just sometimes you fuck me over.

Sometimes you make everything worse.

Abby?

Make me better.

 

Sincerely, Tori

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