To Tom (2)

Dear Tom,
I think I am stuck in some kind of loop. I keep going back and forth to the same spot, with the same pattern, it's getting kind of pathetically funny. If you open your top left drawer, the one you keep all my letters in, you'll find that I am right. I am tired. Exhausted. Drained. And by the way, speaking of repetitions, you'll also find these exact 3 words in almost (if not all) of my letters. The words are worn out. One thing changes though, Tom, and one thing scares me. The wall gets thicker and thicker. I try to say something, to tell someone, but the words that manage to fight their way up my throat bounce back at me. Hollow. Weightless. And not sounding like they're mine. It's why I haven't been writing, too. The distance between me and my words keep getting bigger (I'm going to entertain you with the fact that I've been staring at this for 10 minutes trying to explain how it feels to lose my words, but I think this is explanation enough.) I can neither use words to explain myself nor to understand myself, now. I am utterly and wholly lost. Things are piling up and I am starting to feel a little bit like the ticking bomb hidden inside a teddy bear in the movies. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. I don't know when I'll go off. I am so alone, Tom, and the reason for that is that alone is the only place I know how to be without being ashamed. Please send me some light.

Yours always,