"And I knew it was bad when I woke up in the morning and the only thing I looked forward to was going back to bed."

Yes, the real story didn't start yet, and you probably ask yourself what this is going to be when it's finished. To be honest, I don't know yet. But before I tell you why, I have to write one last letter. A letter to myself. A letter to myself before all those shitty things happend. To the Faye that would experience more than the others ever did. The Faye that were about to ask herself what the point in being alive is. The Faye that would make very difficult decisions, without wanting to do that. The caterpillar that saw everything good in everyone except herself. The girl that survived, eventhough she wanted to die. She deserves all the excuses I have left in my overthinker brain. She deserves all the love I have left. But no one can give it to her. She died when she realised. When she knew what was happening. The moment her childhood ended and life started. I wish I would have known how short my childhood would be. That I will never be the little girl again. That I will never be so good with my parents, and that I will never be as free as I how  were. Nowadays I can't really rememeber how it was. Everything I know is what people told me. It sounds wonderful and scary at the same time. I feel like a whole new person. Not in a good way. I feel like everything I was got lost and now I have to find a new personality. But I don't know how and I feel more lost than I ever did before. I mean, how the fuck do you find a new identity. I feel like Iam not worth it. I mean, why would I do that. And than I remember the little caterpillar that was dancing in the rain. The girl with the dark blonde curls and the green eyes. And I remeber how she wanted to be a biologist so bad, that she would buy a microscope to observe cells from her pocket money. I live for her. For her dream. And I go to school for her. I wake up for her. I ride for her, because she always wanted to have a horse later. She would get the ninth letter. The one that could never be sent.