Your letters are making me increasingly worried; they're becoming so suicidal these days.
Please, don't give up.
Talk to me about what's bothering you, we'll figure out a way to solve your problems.
I'm there, and I'm not going anywhere.
People often ask why my writings give off such sad vibes.
The reason is quite simple.
I write using my pain and paper.
I write to escape the darkness in my mind.
What caused this darkness, you may ask.
Well, it's a flood.
And this flood killed the light.
I have this mental jar which holds my insecurities, fears and pain. But when it reaches the brim, all those emotions spill out. The jar keeps overflowing and soon, my brain is flooded.
It's like a thousand people speaking, at once.
It clogs every nerve, clouds my thinking, chokes out the light and drowns my conscience in the darkness.
It suffocates me, makes it so hard to breathe, makes me feel like my lungs would collapse.
I never knew mental hurt could physically torture me to this extent.
To channel all this nervous energy, I write.
I get the urge to let real blood out, but I prefer to bleed through my words.
When I start writing, those thousand voices intensify.
But they transform into a storm, of words.
And so, I write.
There's just so much pain, so much hurt, but not all of it can be put into words.
So I let some escape, through my eyes, in little salt-water droplets.
Drizzles from my clouded mind.
Just like actual rain, these drizzles freshen up my mind; holding them in causes cloud-bursts.
You said it took your everything to be able to survive the storms, rains, lightnings in your life. That the efforts almost killed you.
But in my case, the drizzle of my tears and the storm of my words give me new life.
It's the flood I fear.
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