warning: references to extreme teenage depression including cutting
Dear James,
Just look at you. Look at yourself.
You're so pathetic it's a disgrace.
You think you're going to leave your mark on the world, think you're going to make it big. Think again. No one is ever going to want you in any regard. You're nothing but a worthless piece of shit. Even Kendall, Logan and Carlos know. Not like they'll ever tell you, though. They're too kind to break down your blissful illusion.
Why do you think it was Kendall that Gustavo wanted, and not you? Because you have no talent. None whatsoever. In fact, I have no idea what made you think you could sing, or dance, or do anything besides flip burgers. Good thing you're good at that, because it's what you're going to be doing for the rest of your life.
You tell yourself every day that you deserve to be here, that you would already be back in godforsaken Minnesota if you really didn't have anything. That everything will get better in time if you just practice that little bit more.
You've always been a liar.
So you sit in the bathroom at night, making marks in your skin with the razor. It's better this way. Nerves on fire, blood trickling down. You sob on those nights, crying for all that you aren't and never will be.
You're weak, James Diamond. You always will be.
So I guess that's it, huh? You'll continue on with your life now, I guess, lying every day.
Good luck with that.
Hey, I have a suggestion. Just remind yourself that you'll never be able to match up with Kendall's skills, or Carlos's sense of humor, or Logan's academic capabilities. Stay here in Hollywood with them and slowly bring Big Time Rush crashing and burning to the ground. It's not like you've got anything to lose, right?
That's what I thought.
Sincerely,
James Diamond, age 29
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