Except maybe my aunt Helen. But she’s gone. And even if she were here, I don’t think I could talk to her either.
Because I’m starting to feel like what I dreamt about her last night was true. And my psychiatrist’s questions weren’t weird after all.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now. I know other people have it a lot worse.
I do know that, but it’s crashing in anyway, and I just can’t stop thinking that the little kid
eating french fries with his mom in the shopping mall is going to grow up and hit my sister.
I’d do anything not to think that. I know I’m thinking too fast again, and it’s all in my head like the trance,
but it’s there, and it won’t go away.
I just keep seeing him, and he keeps hitting my sister, and he won’t stop,
and I want him to stop because he doesn’t mean it, but he just doesn’t listen, and I don’t know what to do.
I’m sorry, but I have to stop this letter now. But first, I want to thank you for being one of those people who listens and understands
and doesn’t try to sleep with people even though you could have.
I really mean it, and I’m sorry I’ve put you through this when you don’t even know who I am,
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