your book is like reading a giant 100 page drunken catholic
confessional raymi blog post. that needs to be said so that people that read your blog, the people that go there daily and adore you through what you’ve written understand that any paragraph from this could have been a post on your blog. and if they love your blog, and they read it everyday and they want to know you better and they want a glimpse of what you’ve been through and what’s inside that girl with the perfect nipples and the hilariously bitchy attitude, then they need to read this book.

i kind of always thought of blogs as public diaries. not anymore.
cuz i found your diary, raymi, THIS is your diary. i snuck into your room while you weren’t home and now i’m reading it and it’s not the stuff that you show everyone else, it’s the stuff that you keep inside, it’s the stuff that you write for yourself. it’s everything that has made you what you are, it’s everything that makes up raymi.

you laid it all out, sweets. they think they’ve seen you naked? ha. wait until they read it. you’re a brave girl, raymi, you really are. cuz you’ve totally opened yourself up and what’s left to hide now? and it makes me adore you even more and when you get home, i’m gonna feel guilty as hell for reading this, but i am gonna give you the biggest hug i can because you’re just incredible.

i’m so glad you wrote this, not just because you decided to share it with everyone else, but because you wrote it for yourself. because you can read it and you can say,
jesus, that was my fucking life? and you can get sad for yourself and feel awful that
you put yourself through so much but at the same time you’ll feel so STRONG because you survived it and you’re still here and you’ve lived so much for someone so young, even if all you wanted the whole time you were doing that living was to die.
you can hate that you put yourself through so much hell, but love it because it’s made you YOU. i hope that writing this and putting this out there helped you.

i like the addition of the stories you’d written. i believe you said that you just did it to fill space, but either way, it worked nicely. this shit is intense, you know? it’s intense and it’s ugly and it’s SAD, (yeah, i know, marketable depression.. it’s supposed to be sad, i get it) so some fiction interspersed with the truth was a sweet idea.

something i noticed, that i suppose is just something you DO, is that even when you’re depressing the hell out of me i’m laughing. the way you describe situations, the way you handle them, the shit you say, it’s just really very funny. i can relate to a lot of the things you’ve written about, as i’m sure a lot of other people can. we’ve had some similar experiences (drugs/drug dealer boyfriends/abuse/picturing car crashes/need i go on) and that makes your book much more personal to me. kinda like all of those books with the characters you identify with and the underlined passages and the OH THAT IS TOTALLY ME. so yeah. i actually wanted to die when i read
that part because.. you know that book i sent you? you know how i told you i had three books of the series and i’d send them to you? yeah, well, the reason i ended up
getting you the book that was the whole series combined, instead of sending you the ones i had here, was because i’d underlined SO MUCH shit in those books that i just couldn’t send them to you that way. it was way too embarassing. now i know that i could have sent them anyway and maybe you’d have underlined some shit too. who knows.

isabel