My dearest Hope,
Three years later, and I'm still looking back, wondering how I ever could have done that. It was a good thing gone bad, and I can't quite erase it. The girl I was then and the woman I am now, they are not the same, and their problems are different and yet intertwined, forging such causality. If this be the root to all of my problems then, Doctor, please show me the means to deracinate! But then they tell me this is not a quick fix, and that's something I've known all along.
And now I have something else wrong inside of me that has boiled my blood, stolen my strength, and disrupted my health. It has sundered the bits and pieces remaining of my confidence. At times, I feel helpless and worthless, like no one will want me. And I often cannot find the faith nor the strength to fuel any true mettle. I once laid on the bathroom floor just after bathing, my hair was sopping wet still. As I clutched the towel between my knees and bit into my fists, I cried until I was breathless and my bones ached from the wooden floorboards I had just drained myself upon.
I've become undone in these past two weeks. And in these past two weeks, reality has set in and the realness of this problem has solidified. Truth be told, I should be thankful. Things could be worse, so they say. Things could always be worse, and I know that. And I am thankful. But I am frustrated. Scared. And alone.
Sweetest confidant, I ask -- most graciously -- that you return yourself to me wholeheartedly and nourish a depressed vigor and a reckless doubt. You once told me carpe diem, to seize the day, and that timeliness is key. Because together we can fight this. But I can't do it alone.
Patiently yours and missing you,
Morganna
