Sylvanna Devlin

I am desperate.

I died in July. Twice. From a suicide attempt.

I looked like a sci fi drawing

7 tubes in my body. My legs a bit strapped up.

They tried so hard. So though death was preferable I made God a promise.

But my stalker doesn’t want me to keep it.

A couple of years ago I promised if. It was important I’d try to the end times

I promised another I’d do everything I could to get better.

But my stalker wants my death.

I started to improve. I had goals, aspirations, plans.

She clawed into me till I dropped into a deeper pit. One with little light only slowed by my cat.

She’s promised to kill or kind-nap her. Instant over the edge for me.

My stalker want my death.

I hit a point so deep into darkness that I was again only slowed by my cat as I hoped I was dying anyway.

I bought items to work on my health and environment. I made plans.

Back down. Because I can’t stand this hen house. And the abuse just ramped up.

Because she wants my death.