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I don't think I can do this any more. I've been trying to get better for you but I can't see very far into the future.



I get occasionally moments whenever I'm imagining us, everyone, a few years down the line. We're healthy and successful. Modelling is working out well. No matter what we try, it works out. It's not like this life. But's that's only a pipe dream.



I have to stop living in the dream world. It only leads to disappointment. So does having belief in others. I can't live in this world though. It's too flat and grey and much too harsh. Everyone just stabs you in the back in the end.



You saw the start of this letter. I'm glad you won't see the end and I'm sort of glad that you can't see how bad things are inside my head. I'm trying to hold it above water right now but I'm sinking and I can only ever push myself onward for so long before the black dog grabs my wrist and pulls me under.



The darkest thoughts are tugging at me again. Suicide. It calls to me from among the other thoughts, purring my name, tempting me to give in. And I want to. After all, what the hell am I living for?



Oh I could give multiple reasons but all it really comes down to is the fact you want me alive and you're pushing me to stay that way. But I really don't think I can manage that much longer. In fact, I've been making plans again. If it goes to hell at the weekend, it's over. I'm sorry but the next time you'll see my face it will be looking up at you from a coffin.



I'm sorry. Yeah, I'm so fucking sorry.