Dear "You"...From "Me"-Letters Unsent

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To all the Charlie Sheen "haters" out there,

Get bent. That is all I have to say.

-Me

Dear You,

This would have been your 82nd Thanksgiving. We miss you.

-Your Kids

Dear you,

You were factually correct, but that doesn't mean you were right. Until you understand the difference, there is nothing to talk about.

-Me

Dear everyone in my life,

I don't know what's happened to me either. I don't know why I am always feeling angry, sad, isolated, even more so than I used to. And I used to feel plenty of that. I don't know why things are suddenly so hard. I am turning 30 and I thought it was going to be one big joyous occasion because, WOW, I SURVIVED! For so many years I thought I would have killed myself by now but I survived. Hell, I've even survived abuse and homelessness. And not only did I survive, I got accepted into graduate school (although my dissertation is a tragic failure), I am being given the opportunity to speak up for kids like me and oh my god, I survived and I am going to keep living so WHY AM I NOT HAPPIER?

But here's the thing. None of you know about this. None of you witnessed me going through that period of time first hand. So it hurts when I asked you these questions and you told me I was exaggerating. That I couldn't have been that ill back then. That I am so functional, what do I mean by I was that ill or that I have a diagnosis of what?!?! And it hurts more when you tell me things like how I need to grow up and that everyone has it as hard as I do so quit whining and do what is required of me. It hurts me horribly when you tell me that no, you don't care to understand what I have been diagnosed with or what my presenting needs are because you think I am just BS-ing. I wish I was filled with nothing but overwhelming gratitude, with nothing but pure joy. Because goddamit. I never thought I would live to see 30 and I am going to. But I don't feel any of that. I just feel sad. Angry. Like I cannot cope. Like everything is too difficult.

It makes me sad that when I finally come out of this hole, if I ever come out of it, some of you wouldn't be there any more. I could tell you all these, but to myself, it sounds like I am making excuses, it's an age old problem. So I won't. I am trying to come to terms with it, but I want you to know that our friendship, while we had it, was a wonderful thing and I loved it. Thank you for having been in my life.

Me.

hey..
I apologize for being too goofy sometimes.
Much respect btw.
Don't feel pressured.
This really is medicine, some will be dans, some will be dark.
Play what cracks you up, play the coolest, or the angry, or the chillest...
play the truth.
IF you want and what you want.
..we both do.
Takk for laget.

I don't have anyone to enjoy the colour with any more and I don't know how I will ever find that again. I don't even know if it was real or if I imagined it all, it's just that there's something missing in my life now and there's no one to be strange and crazy with.

How did life become this bland? I don't feel like I am myself any more.

Dear you,

I realise that you will never really care about me, I don't believe you would see me starve (I think) but, that's about the depth I can expect from you.

Me

Dear woman who gave birth to me

I like it when my niece calls me he. Don't correct her anymore. You've caused me anxiety my whole life by expecting me to be normal and feminine at the same time.

Dear Quiet One,

They taught you to reject and dent yourself.
They taught you ther was something wrong with you.
You buried yourself and your feelings in alcohol.
You're just like my mom.
Please shed this costume and be your beautiful Autie self.

Love always,
Doesn't know when to stop talking

Dear Santa,

I have been good all year, or at least I tried to be. I do have some ideas for what I want for Christmas, but the number one thing I want this year is a happy, normal life. I envy the NT's on how they handle tense situations and their social skills. I wish I was like that, but my Asperger's, anxiety, and depression get in the way of everything, even my marriage. I hate when I melt down, because I hurt those around me emotionally, including my husband. He does everything he can to help, but I have a hard time letting go, which really frustrates him.

Please, Santa, if you can give me this, I will forever be grateful, and my marriage will still be safe.

Sincerely,
WitchsCat

Old friend,

I hope you are content and in good health.

I miss you.

Happy Christmas.

You write beautifully. I envy your talents sometimes.

Merry Christmas

Dear Mom,

I'm sorry I couldn't stop her. I'm sorry I wasn't smart enough, or brave enough, and that I couldn't get anyone to listen.

I hope you're not all alone. I hope there's someone left that she hasn't managed to run off. I hope she still bothers to make a show of visiting you for the holidays.

I hope you got the pictures.

I hope you still believe I love you.

Merry Christmas.

Dear Husband,

I hate this stupid holiday. Next year, I'm doing it my way. Christmas lists by Halloween. Shopping done by Thanksgiving. That leaves The Tree, The Lights, The Cooking, and The Visiting to be done after the Sacrosanct by Your Family Tradition Date of December Fourth (and nothing else).

I realize that I'm the cause of all my Christmas stress. Yes, I am the one driving myself to have perfect children and perfect decorations and perfect gifts. Because, if they ooh and aah for 20 minutes on Christmas morning, then I Am Good Enough. For that day, anyway.

See, I remember when I didn't used to get stressed out about this stupid holiday. Back when I refused to do all the stuff you're telling me I shouldn't do, because I don't need to and it's not worth it. You know. Back when everyone hated me, and had a twenty-item list to define why I'm selfish and horrible and not worthy of being your wife/their mother/part of a family/friends/whatever.

If I drive myself completely f*****g insane to satisfy everyone's whims, they will love me. Or at least tolerate me because they can see that I am trying hard to be a good person. YOUR acceptance is something YOU can afford to take for granted. MINE has to be paid for, every day, in advance.

DON'T try to tell me any different. Because you and yours were the ones who finally and irrevocably taught me it was so, back when I had almost grown to believe it wasn't.

It's not a slur against you. It's not because of you. You don't make other people buy their place again every day. You're not that kind of person. You're good, and kind, and generous, and charitable, and your dad was right. I DON'T deserve you, unless I buy my place again, every single day. It's me. It's an autism thing. I don't expect you to understand.

I'm sorry for letting my frustration show. I'm sorry for having a grumpy tone in my voice and tears in my eyes. I'm sorry I didn't have a big smile to paste on when you walked into the bedroom. I'm sorry I spoke to you about how I feel. I'm sorry I made you frustrated (because I'm not supposed to call it angry when you yell at me and tell me how selfish and self-absorbed and stupid and wasteful I am, and how no matter how hard I tried I screwed it all up again).

Please, next year, just let me do it in a way that works for me, instead of expecting me to pull an entire holiday out of my ass in 21 days (complete with gifts for 11 kids and two adults who swear they don't want anything but get offended if there's nothing under the tree for a grand total of about $1000 in shopping, packing for 2 weeks for a family of 6, keeping the house clean enough to receive company, keeping up with the "get-it-done-before-the-break" homework push, holiday activities, friends who are entitled to my help on demand by virtue of higher social standing, and getting the car ready to drive 1100 miles) and keep a perfectly calm and happy demeanor and a bright smile (and keep singing those Christmas carols) while I do it.

I have four Xanax. They only need to last through today and tomorrow (and leave one for the drive home). But next year, can we please, please, PLEASE just admit that I'll be handling the whole damn holiday by myself and let me do it in a way that gives me enough time to decompress a little bit between frantic rounds of holiday behaviors??

I have autism, not ADHD. I can't wire my brain up to enjoy the stimulation of the crowds, and the craziness, and the mad rush. I can't fix the fact that socializing constantly for 14 days straight fries my brain. Please, please just let me do what I can to minimize the pain.

Sincerely,

Your Exhausted, ret*d, Stupid, Selfish, Sick, Worthless Wife

Dear you

I have every right to exist in this world as I am, but I wont fight you for that right because in your game there aren't any rules.

Instead I will resist, like I am comfortable doing, with every fiber of my being, I will do so with peace in my heart too, you might be able to take the few people who love me away, but you will not obliterate who I am.

You can destroy what I have in my physical environment, but you cannot have access to the core of who I am, my soul.

He sees how you are to your 'nearest and dearest', he now sees that he will be next, just like the last one did. Your sadness is coming, and it will be all of your own doing, again.

I will keep compassion in my heart, but I am not your doormat.

From me.

Dear You.

I still have no clue what to say to you. Let's start with the biggies: I love you, and I hate you.

I am so angry. And it's weird because I don't really know how to feel anger, but I think that's what it is. You were so blind. And I know you'd deny that, but you're just being f**king stubborn. I know how you felt, how you probably still feel, only you're even worse with emotions than I am and I don't think that you understand what you feel for me. But I see it, everyone else sees it. So yes, I am still angry at you. You wasted something that could have been wonderful, and it is hard to let go of the potential. But you know what, if you came to me now and changed your mind, I think maybe you've finally hurt me enough and rejected me enough for me to turn you away. It would devastate me, but I think maybe I'd do it. Because D has more balls than you'll ever have. And yeah, it was sh*tty timing, blah blah blah. But you know what the end of it is? You were scared. It didn't matter about the f**king timing, you were just absolutely terrified. But D is so committed, and you are still so blind.

I thought you were so wonderful. We "got" each other like nobody has done for me, ever. You accepted every facet of me, and I accepted every facet of you. It was a beautiful relationship. So close. So understanding. So similar in so many ways, although you didn't want to see it at first. It made it easier, to pretend that I was so irrational, so emotional, so illogical. And maybe now you're realising that actually we're pretty similar.

Well, I hope you're happy. And I don't know if I mean that or if I'm being sarcastic. I hope you never regret your decision. Because if you do it will tear me apart.

One day we'll speak again, I'm sure.

Until then, if I'm honest, I hope your heart hurts a fraction of how much mine hurts, so you might understand the pain you've put me through.

From,
Me.