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Dear Abbey.

I could tell you not to do it. But that wouldn't work, would it? I've been there, I did it. I wouldn't have let myself be persuaded, so why should you? We are the same, you and I. I know every part of you, your mind, your heart. I know what you're going to think when you do it, when you finally realise you want to do it.

But I also know that you don't really want to. I know you would stop, if someone was to burst into the room, and... And do something. If it was him, he would throw it away and hug you and tell you not to be stupid. And you would listen. If it was Emma, she would pick it up and throw it away and tell you not to be silly. You might listen. If it was Dad, he would snatch it from your fingers, and shout and scream until your eardrums burst. You would nod, but you wouldn't listen. If it was Sal...

I'll stop. You know all of this as well as I do. What you don't know... is how it hurts. In the depeest black of night, whent the silence is ringing all around you, when your heart has slowed to a freeze and the world is crashing around you - it hurts. God, it hurts. Like being plunged into icy, icy water. First, sharp pain, and then it fades, and there's a numbness. Then, the shaking will begin. Unbearable shivering, making your bones ache and your muscles complain.

And then the tears will come, rolling down your cheeks to dry into the pillow.

There are times when you'll walk through a crowd, and not really be a part of it. You will be separate, and every drop of blood lost will mark you different. Every invisible stain will set you aside. People will sweep around you, avoiding the dark haze surrounding you, the shadows under your eyes and downturned corners of your mouth. And you'll want with every fibre of your being to be a part of them. To have a part of what they see, feel, and taste every day...

No, I won't tell you not to do it. But I hope you won't.

Description
Dear Abbey.

I could tell you not to do it. But that wouldn't work, would it? I've been there, I did it. I wouldn't have let myself be persuaded, so why should you? We are the same, you and I. I know every part of you, your mind, your heart. I know what you're going to think when you do it, when you finally realise you want to do it.

But I also know that you don't really want to. I know you would stop, if someone was to burst into the room, and... And do something. If it was him, he would throw it away and hug you and tell you not to be stupid. And you would listen. If it was Emma, she would pick it up and throw it away and tell you not to be silly. You might listen. If it was Dad, he would snatch it from your fingers, and shout and scream until your eardrums burst. You would nod, but you wouldn't listen. If it was Sal...

I'll stop. You know all of this as well as I do. What you don't know... is how it hurts. In the depeest black of night, whent the silence is ringing all around you, when your heart has slowed to a freeze and the world is crashing around you - it hurts. God, it hurts. Like being plunged into icy, icy water. First, sharp pain, and then it fades, and there's a numbness. Then, the shaking will begin. Unbearable shivering, making your bones ache and your muscles complain.

And then the tears will come, rolling down your cheeks to dry into the pillow.

There are times when you'll walk through a crowd, and not really be a part of it. You will be separate, and every drop of blood lost will mark you different. Every invisible stain will set you aside. People will sweep around you, avoiding the dark haze surrounding you, the shadows under your eyes and downturned corners of your mouth. And you'll want with every fibre of your being to be a part of them. To have a part of what they see, feel, and taste every day...

No, I won't tell you not to do it. But I hope you won't.