Thanks for telling me that you're leaving...again. No really thanks. You where my suport here. Where. When you left the first time I was depressed. And I was bad. My depression and anxiety grew and the problem only got worse. I don't wanna go back to that me. That me is the one that lived in her room with her scissors and her notebook. That me is the me I don't wanna be again. And I'm afraid if you leave that that's the me I'll be again. In honesty maybe it wouldn't hurt so much to loose you if I never knew you. I didn't know you when you came once a year with Aunty sometimes. Sometimes I wish we didn't grow so close because then loosening you again...maybe...maybe it wouldn't hurt this much.