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

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I categorically apologize for having annoying problems, and being awful at social interaction.

Dear friend,

I thought we shared common goals but it appears we do not.
You have made out that you gave life to the things in your environment when you slowly took it all away.

The amazing stories you once told me turned out to have harsh realities and truths.
When you start accepting them, I'll begin to accept what's happened between us and go back to being drinking buddies, laughing and sharing our worldly plans over cheap ale.

You usually have such great temperament and persona, which is why it's so very hard to shake the disappointment I harbour for what you have done to me and so many others you have claimed to "help" or be involved with. I hope this changes one day. I really do.


and.

Dear Life,

I know we've had our differences. I know you've tried to tell me some things and I've tried so hard to prove myself to you in utter defiance of your teachings. Just so you know; you were right and it's OK to be ordinary (at least...for the most part). I promise not to keep playing up from now on.

Yours truly,

Self.

Denis,

Sorry to hear that you had to retire with an injury. I hope you feel better soon.

Rafael,

Not again! Not another loss to a low-ranked player! Just when I thought things were going so well, it all comes to an end once again.

Dear me,

It's not that people aren't posting, it's just that you're posting too fast! This is becoming the Charity Goody Grace Place!! !

Love,

Charity

Dear you,

If you took the time to stop being a butt-hurt, paranoid, perpetual victim you would realise that I would do anything in my power to help you.

Even if that makes you hate me.

Love,
Raleigh.

You know who you are.

I'm onto you. Lots of people in real life agree with me.

Love,

Charity

To David Ferrer,

Good to see you doing well in your current tournament! Win in Sweden and hopefully put your injury problems behind you.

Dear You,

Remember when, to you, everything I felt that wasn't desire to eat out or about your cock was depression?? Feeling hurt was depression. Wanting to grow a garden was depression. Everything was depression.

Now you see depression. The last seven years have been depression.

I should get help, you said. Take some medication, you said. Now you see me-- brain damaged from neuroleptics, addicted to benzos (yeah, I took them for a few months and it's been over a year-- still addicted), still easily exhausted (permanent thyroid dysfunction, maybe??) from five months on Zoloft.

All I needed, ever, was somebody to listen. Preferably someone who lives in the real world, not that idealistic wouldn't it be great fantasy land called therapy. Preferably someone who isn't my MALE best friend, who I can't be accused of adultery just for talking with.

That was too hard. You told me how uncaring I was because I wouldn't CATER to your judgments and fears. Why can't you LISTEN to mine??

--Me

BuyerBeware,

Your post hit the nail on the head exactly. People are too quick to call everything depression, but when they are up against the real thing, they don't notice it or they want to medicate the problem, not knowing the horrible side effects (and downright up front effects) of those horrible drugs. Just the names of those pharmaceuticals are the stuff of nightmares.

Dear world,

I miss having a dog.
I can deal with no one finding me bearable enough to be attached to, but I really miss having a dog.

Dear Mom,

I know I'm not the woman you wanted for him.

I don't know who that woman might have been. I imagine she would have been the Twenty-First Century version of the idealized '50s housewife and so much more. Someone bright and vivacious, professional enough to give us a combined annual income over $200K, lots of fun, with a spotless house and great taste in decorating, who would raise perfectly-mannered genius children with impressive lists of extracurricular activities, who likes to entertain and excels at small-talk... Great at planning exciting vacations... With a photo-ready family of shiny people who would immediately make you feel at home. I imagine she would have been the woman you wanted to be.

Definitely not, you know, ME.

But HE PICKED ME. I don't know why. I don't know if he loved me, or loved who he thought he could make me into, or saw me as a starter wife, or was just so lonely and hopeless that anyone who would take him would do, or saw me as nothing more than a means to an end and just happened to end up baby-trapped before that end was reached.

Whatever the reason, one thing I can say-- he picked me with his eyes open, in full possession of all the information I had available to me to give him. To paraphrase Leonard Cohen, I told the truth. I didn't try to fool him. I told him he wouldn't be a struggling engineering student forever. I told him what I could and couldn't be. I told him I thought he could do better. He said, "I love you just the way you are."

I don't know why.

I don't know why he picked me, but he did. I've tried to be good to him. Sometimes I've failed. Sometimes I've taken care of myself first, whether he liked it or not. The really notable one was stealing time to spend a few hours a week sitting alone under a tree smoking dope. That was probably morally wrong; I was probably a 23-year-old feminist c**t who had no understanding of the true, sacrificial meaning of love (though I would NEVER want him to put nursing my depressed ass ahead of his own mental and emotional survival). Sometimes I've tried so hard it ended up blowing up in both our faces. But I've always tried to be good to him.

I believe he's always tried to be good to me-- I guess we're neither of us saints.

I know I'm not the woman you wanted for him. I'm not the mother you wanted for your grandchildren.

I can't say you're not the mother-in-law I wanted. I never considered what I wanted in a mother-in-law. I figured I'd have enough trouble finding a man without screening his parents too-- and I SURE AS HELL wouldn't have wanted someone to screen me on the basis of my family.

I love him. I'm going to choose to believe that he loves me. We ALL love these kids.

I love YOU. I don't think I'm ever going to figure out how to love you the way you want me to, but I do love you. I wish I could fix your depression, your anxiety, your perfectionism, your contempt for your own self (and not just because it would benefit me). I wish I could help you realize some of your lost goals and dreams.

I'm not going to give up pursuing some degree of realization of mine just because you either had to or chose to throw yours away. Maybe that's disrespectful of your sacrifice, I don't know. I know I don't want my kids (or potential kids-in-law) to sacrifice themselves on the altar of my sacrifices.

Can we please, please, please call an end to the judgment and hostility?? I'll try to let go of the fact that things you said and did are a big part of the reason I sacrificed being there for my parents and grandparents at the ends of their lives if you'll try to let go of the fact that I'm not the person you wanted for the next generation of your family.

Dear Grandma,

Happy six months in Heaven!! Please give my love to everybody.

I'm glad that your angels finally showed up to get you. I remember how long you had to wait.

Do you think you could talk them into coming back and getting me, too??

I miss you and I don't want to do this any more. I'm not as strong as you were.

Love,
Me