Read Letters Written in White for Free Online

I’m afraid all the time, yet I have no idea what exactly it is that I fear so much. My thoughts are all over the place and about everything. There’s always this existential dread present, and nothing I do makes it go away. But everything makes it worse. I used to be a little overweight, and I obsessed and worried about my appearance because of it. Now, I’ve lost a lot of weight, and apparently that’s a bad thing too.
    Looking down at myself in shame, I say, “Make up your mind, Grayson. Before you made comments about my being overweight and how it was unhealthy. Now being skinnier is unhealthy?”
    He throws his hands up in defeat rather than sparring with me any longer.
    “You know what? I’ll just shut up because nothing I ever say is the right thing. You take offense to every word that comes out of my mouth.”
    “No, Grayson, I take offense to every word that doesn’t come out of your mouth.”
    His brows furrow. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
    “Never mind. It doesn’t even matter at this point.”
    The argument ends just as quickly as it started, and with the kids already in bed I again opt to sleep in the guest room.
     

     
    Standing in front of the mirror, I look at myself.
     
    Riah Winter.
     
    I don’t even know her anymore. I’m a stranger to myself. These are the empty moments of my days. They were once few; now they are many. Being alone with myself only solidifies that I hate my own company. When I’m alone, I can feel so strongly all of the places within myself that have hardened or rotted away at the hands of this sickness. Any semblance of vitality has slowly shattered, and all I hear in my head are shrill cries of desperation for a pardon of any kind. I think about my brother, and I wish so badly he were still here so I could talk to him. He would understand. He is the only person I could ever turn to. You would think Grayson would have some kind of perspective on what this illness can do to a person after seeing how it ruined my brother’s life when his wife committed suicide. He was my best friend, and at times like this, when I’m at my lowest, I just wish I could call him up and hear him tell me it will all be okay and to be strong. He was one of the most positive and understanding people I’ve ever known. He loved unconditionally, and that’s really all I want from my husband.
    When we lost my brother, it was such a massive blow to our family. I grieved for him desperately and my mother was wrecked. When I think about what it would do to her to lose another child, it breaks my heart, but the bigger heartbreak is what I put my family through daily. This illness is a double-edged sword. Either way there’s pain.
    I wash my pale face. As I blot the wetness away with a dry washcloth, the darkness of the circles under my eyes taunt me. Two gray half-moons rest beneath my sad emerald eyes. I long for the days when these eyes smiled. Dragging a brush through my hair, I cringe when I realize how much hair I’ve lost and continue to lose.
     
    Stress.
    Anxiety.
     
    That’s what Google says is most likely the cause of it. I can’t eat, and even the most basic of hygiene care takes up a ton of my energy daily. I went five days without showering until today. I don’t know how I got from who I once was to this. It’s been so long since I got my eyebrows waxed they are nearly grown together in the center. I open the bag I brought in here days ago and look for a pair of tweezers. Instead I find the package of straight-blade eyebrow shapers I bought but never used. I open the clear packaging and pull out the one with the pastel yellow handle. I grasp the small plastic handle and angle the glimmering blade against my skin between my brows and shave downward. Just as I push down, I feel a tiny pinch and sting. A small red dot begins to grow bigger where I pushed down on the blade.
    “Ouch,” I whisper.
    I set the shaper down and grab the washcloth from before and hold it to