I lied to you the other day when you asked if I was ok. I'm not. There's something wrong with me, but I don't know what it is. I don't eat. I'm tired all the time. I feel like shit. The only thing I want to is sleep, and even then all I get are nightmares.
I went to see Dr. DeSilva, but she said there wasn't anything physically wrong with me. Wanted me to see Dr. Kohl, but I said no. I know Frank would just give me shit if he found out I was talking to a shrink.
Anyway, I don't why I'm telling you this. You've always been nice to me, I guess. Maybe I just wanted someone to remember me after liiiiiiiiiiloj/i;..........kk,m