To Tom (7)

Mama, take this badge off from me
I can't use it anymore
It's getting dark, much too dark to see
Feel I'm knockin' on heaven's door

Dear Tom,
It pains me to write this, it pains me both physically and emotionally. What follows is not going to be pleasant to read (and believe me it's the farthest thing from pleasant to write) so forgive the mess. I am trying to blurt it out before I lose the small bit of bravery I have right now.
I have so much to say, and I am not sure exactly how to articulate. I am merely writing this for documentation's sake, I haven't been writing for the sake of writing since forever and just the thought of it makes me sick to the bone. It brings me so much shame, and you're the only one I can open myself up to.
Shame. An emotion that has become too familiar,  I know every twist, every turn, because the road always leads me there. I am so ashamed of myself,  I get sick of the skin I am wearing and of everything that goes on within. I am just... tired. Yesterday I accidentally cut myself and I reveled in the pain, like I deserved it. I've been thinking about it a lot lately, hurting myself, my fingers itching to claw at the skin where my veins rest, my knuckles straining under the weight of me denying them the right to inflict pain on the body that holds them. I thought it was a moment's thought, that it will just go away when I am calmer, but I don't trust myself anymore.
I almost crashed my car today, my head was buzzing with thoughts I couldn't drown out even with the music at maximum. Everything was a haze and I couldn't help myself, I almost did it. I wanted the crash, I wanted my bones to ache and then I wanted it all to stop. Cease. But I didn't. I am anchored and it's the only thing that's keeping me here and it makes me so angry. So angry because I want everyone anchoring me to just let me go, I do not want to think of anyone's pain, and I want mine to cease. Anger. I never thought I'd have so much anger; it's like everything I've been feeling has hardened and just turned angry.

There's a ghost on the horizon
When I go to bed
How can I fall asleep at night
How will I rest my head?

My mom told me I lost so much weight I look like a ghost, I smile sarcastically, I don't tell her that for six days the only meal I had was breakfast. I am not sleeping much either, the nights stretch agonizingly and sometimes I can't go through them on my own. I am not sure how much longer I can linger. I am not looking for anything here, I won't ask you to send light my way this time, because I don't want it. I just want everything to drop dead. I'd rather you not write me back either. It'll make me feel less pitiful, and I know we've agreed that pity has no place between us, so let's not give it one now. How's your book coming out? I am sending you all the bits of light I have left, as always.

Yours forever,