I feel sick. The last time I felt like this it ended worse than I could ever have imagined. Last time I felt this sick I was left with a scar on my wrist that looks like a line terminating my existence. But, yet again, here I am. Nine years. Nine years between us and somehow we have managed to make this out of our lives. Two days and you make me think about every waking moment of my existence and question every choice I have ever made. Is this my fault? My stomach feels like it is consuming itself and someone’s hand is reaching down my throat to stop it. I am alone in this and I do not know how I got here. You are kind. You are sweet. But even the day I become legal I am the same person that I am just the day before. One day does not change me. So why is it then and only then that we can be? I do not think this can work but for some reason, I cannot say no. This is my fault. I got myself into the situation. You do not make me sick. I make me sick. I am repulsed by the thought that I can be so ignorant and so willing. Though you are okay with this I am not. But I will not tell you that because I am weak. I will continue and wait until I become so sick of the thoughts going through my head and you decide that whatever this is cannot work. It is always me. I will always get myself into this. I am my own problem. I am my own worst fear. I am sorry just as sorry as I will be when we end this. I am sick and I do not know if I can live with it.