Letter 1

11/22/14

Dear you, 

First of all I must introduce myself. My name is Grace and I'm 17. I'm a teenager with issues. I mean, I know that life isn't perfect, and no matter how much I try it is never going to be easy. I haven't been happy since a lot of time now (maybe around a year). I would never kill myself because I'm not brave enough to go with it. I, however, do know that if I was walking and a car was coming my way I woudln't move. Yeah, most day I want to die. 

I cannot remember the last day I was okay. Lately I've been better but I'm still sad. I don't know if this is depression, but I'm sure as hell that I shouldn't be feeling like this. I'm fat. I'm uly. I'm weird. I'm boring. I'm stupid. I'm alone. I'm full of flaws.

My parents and siblings and family in general, can't see through facade. They all think I'm fine. That I'm complete. I AM NOT. I tend to hide my feelings and cry in the shower to not be heard. Everybody can fake a smile, right? My mouth is open but my eyes are dead and they don't see it. It's surprising how easy they see through me. 

I prefer physical pain than emotional pain. Physical pain can be handled with a pill, while the emotional pain won't go away. I do not cut myself (I don't want scars) but I do cause myself pain. Usually I hit a wall until I can't feel my hand. 

I should tell you about my friends. I used to have several. One year I switched schools and was left with no one. I managed to make new ones. The next year, all the friends I did, changed their schools and again I was alone. This year, my best friend moved to London (I'm from Mexico) and I cannot explain the feeling of losing him. I'm not totally friendless because I still hang around with those who are left but it's not the same.

I am fat. Everybody tells me the opposite but I'm not sure. I'm 5'4 and my weight is 136 pounds. You'll probably say to that I'm okay, but my stomach rolls, my inexistent thigh gap, my fat arms are telling me that I'm fat. The mirror doesn't lie. It shows me my ugly, pimply face and my crooked, yellow-ish teeth. I know I'm not pretty.

Dear you, I think I've said enough for this letter, I'll write something later and let you read it. Hope you don't hate me too,

Grace.