Letter to Mark Bobby #1

The following was found ripped up in a gutter and subsequently sticky-taped together again by Janice and Scott some time in 1998 (i think) I debated over putting it on the site for quite a while given the obvious fragile state of mind of the letter writer, but I feel probably enough time has passed to appease any guilt I have over placing on public display such a mess of emotions. ...

Miss Sandy B
((Address excluded))

Dear Mr Mark Bobby ((last name omitted)) 2, Things are getting very difficult for me at home. Sometimes I want to kill myself. Can you offer me large amounts of drugs? A sharp knife? A good strong razor or alernate accomodation? A rich benefactor? A winning lotery ticket? (there's a missing piece of the ripped paper here and the following couple of lines are a little discernable..) A {loving pair} of natural parents kinder than {the ones who} adopted me? A vocation? .... deep and abiding belief .......myself, or someone's unconditional love {or a fulfilling career} or a worthwhile job ...... a lover, a soulmate, a second self or a pet? A basket full of dreams come-true? A big stick to wave about in the face of mine enemies? Can you spare me a thought, can you lend me a tenor, can you hear the drums Fernando?

Yae though i walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I'm buggered if I know where the path comes out. Give me a road map, a destination, a hope, a chance, a dream, a good lawyer, a strong tranquiliser or a seat on the board. (Take me home, country roads!) I write to you in secret because you are my confidant, my diary, if nothing else, you understand me because you've been in my position & been through it. Mind you if I really intended to give >>>