You may see me as different things. I won't name them, because I don't think that your words are true...

You look at me and think whatever, but...deep down...I'm something dark and sinister...

I have more problems than I can count, and I have had four anxiety attacks in a single ten minute car ride...I'm weak and...I can't write...

...I'm done with all of this...

...I'm sorry...and no, I'm not going to take my life. I'm just not going to write anymore...my books suck...

For this moment on, I'm not writing anything else...

...Goodbye...