Mama. I want to get help. I want to be able to feel actually happy with myself, and my friends, and you and the family. I don’t want to be sad, or ruin my own moment with the bitter reminder that life is short. It doesn’t soothe me, when people say “change your perspective” or “technically life is what you fear, because it’s not what you’re used to.” I just want to find help, to be able to think without worrying about my last moments, or idly doubting if I’ll make it past 18, let alone survive being on my own. I know you care about me and say you’ll always be there. But what if you’re not? Or what if, when I need you, you’re not there? I can’t keep wishing I restarted my life to try and be something better, to feel less of a failure or waste of time because I’m not exceptional in any way or remarkable enough to make it seem like I matter. I don’t wanna die. I just wanna live longer to be able to feel better, and feel like I’ve made you proud. I’m sorry mama.