I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry, Claire. And my guilt will only increase when I die. And we both know that that's a 'when'.

After reading Jezebel's page 'what happens when you tell a boy to f*ck off but you just want him closer' in her work 'Moments'.

I used to keep trying to save people. In the end, I was the one who sunk. My best friend has to put up with me all the time, with the mood swings and depression and anxiety and pain and everything else. And I feel so guilty, all the time. And I'm sorry that this happened to you, but sadness is tricky. It's like mirrors: it lies. It twists itself to look pretty. Pretty and shiny and reachable. And it drags you down. If I had known that I'm just going to keep drowning, with my best friend constantly throwing life savers at my head and telling me all the reasons why I'm still alive, I... don't know what I would have done. But I told her once, 'I'm sorry I keep sending messages to you. I can stop if you want'.

You know what? She never replied. She wasn't going to insult me with an 'it's okay' because it wasn't. Nothing is okay. And she wasn't going to say 'I don't mind' because she did. Not in the way that she's annoyed, but in the way that she worries for me. And I feel so guilty.

I just feel so guilty.

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