I am writing to you because I know you listen and understand, and you will not judge me for anything I do or have done. Maybe you've never heard of my name, and that would not have been new to me. Not only because I use a different pseudonym for every text I write, but, yes, because I do not exist. Not even for those with whom I live daily.
Things are getting harder every day, and keeping everything to myself has not made them better. Adolescence can be an incredible phase of discoveries if you are not afraid to venture out. And meeting different people. Different places. And to experiment. All this may sound exciting when you are 10 years old. I regret it for having thought so and for wishing that day would come soon. Until he arrived. Faster than I thought would happen. And nothing has been easy since then. I know the trend is worse. New responsibilities will come. And challenges. Commitments. And the life you're going to take is up to you. That's where the problem is: at the age of 17, they give us the difficult task of deciding what we will be, even though we do not know for sure what to do or even being forced by parents to follow in their footsteps. Something as difficult as that should not be imposed on us anytime soon.

I know you will keep my secrets, just as I have kept your secrets after all these years. It's hard for me to put everything out. Organizing ideas is the trickiest part. Everything turns and confuses me. It agonizes me. It depresses me. Words that have never been said turn into dreams and torment me. Already those that have been said give me a feeling of emptiness. I should have kept them and waited the right time to release them. Today, they are needed ... because they have never been rewarded.
I do not know how many letters I'll write to you. I think until all this is over. And I hope it's over soon. I do not have much time to repair myself, but by then I believe you will hear me and understand me. Because I only have you, just like you only had me one day.

With love,
A.N.