Dear Sylvia,

My friend has died. Pills at one in the morning. Or hanging; her sister won’t tell me exactly how.


She’s gone. You’re gone, even though I like to forget that. So many people that I look up to and feel somewhat connected to are gone: Stanley Kubrick, Kurt Cobain, etc. Why? WHY?


I wonder if this is how people felt when you died, Sylvia. Lost, broken, as if their hearts caved in. I know for a fact that I feel like my core is now this RAPIDLY GROWING VOID that my entire BEING is slowly collapsing into, and soon it will be completely gone. Maybe it’s for the best if that happens.


WHAT do I even want to stop? Everything?

Nothing feels good. When I found out, I jumped up from where I was sitting with my mother, ran into my bathroom, and collapsed on the floor in tears. I wish I had stayed there. I can’t see straight, hear straight, THINK. Nothing is the same, Sylvia.


Sylvia Letter 4