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I know, I know, telling her I wouldn’t read her book even if they held a gun to my head was low… but she wrote about Italians as short, hairy and stupid!

I hate stereotypes!

Like when they tell me time will heal this wound… really? Because the more time passes without you, the more it feels like the wound is festering instead of healing. Like every day without you is making it worse. So when exactly does this magical healing start, huh?

Why are people so blind!

I feel like I’m screaming behind a glass wall but no one can hear me while they just… live.

When did living become such a hard thing?

I hate life, I hate them and I hate you for dying on me!

Please come home.

One month.

I can’t do this.

I can’t.

This hurts too much and the more I run from it, the more it swallows me whole.

How do I numb this pain, Dami?

My parents and Chiara keep calling but I’m not in the mood to talk or to open the door…

I just want to sleep.

Because you sometimes visit me there,

and other times it helps me escape reality.

They say hell is the worst place that exists.

I guess they forgot to tell me hell is here, without you.

Because I refuse to believe there could ever be anything worse than this…

I’m tired, so so tired, Vita.

And you’re still not coming home.

Month three.

I lost our apartment.

I stopped paying the mortgage.

Oops!

Actually, I stopped it all.

Eating, sleeping, showering, caring…

Mom is taking me to live with them.

Live being a word that is way too big for what I’m doing…