A/N: Hey guys. It's Kat, aka alwaysawriter, here. Younger members probably don't know my other username but I'm using this one out of pure paranoia that the person I wrote the letter to will read it if I post it as Always.
February 12, 2010
Dear You,
I’m not using your name, as I’m in Computer Apps class with someone next to me and this is a class assignment.
I’m sitting here, in my seat in the room where you had Digital Communications last year, with “To Write Love On Her Arms” on both of my arms, picking at my fingers, staring blankly at the blinking curser, which has, and always will, mock me, writing a letter to you, a “classmate,” which you aren’t at the moment but you were in the past, as an assignment. There’s so much I could say, about how much you hurt me, how much I let you hurt me, and how I hurt myself but, hey, the past is the past, right? Um, no. Because if we don’t look back into the past, we aren’t going to know where we’re headed or how we got to the place we are right now or how to learn from our past mistakes and relationships. As long as we learn from it, not dwell on it, we’re good. If we dwell on it, well, it makes a mess. Not a little mess that takes under five minutes to clean up but a big one, one that takes an hour to clean up. (In case you don’t understand my metaphor, five minutes means five days, and an hour is a year) You know me, I dwell. I dwelled over ruining our friendship for an entire summer and I dwelled on reruining our friendship for a few months not even a year later. But I did learn.
Last period, thinking about you triggered my anxiety and I had to spend half an hour in the Guidance Center, just crying and rocking. Yeah, you screwed me up that badly. The worst part? I let you screw me up that badly. I let you have as much power as God himself. You were God, with all your other God-like friends, and I was this little peon, with barely any friends, and thought only how to not make you mad. In my eyes, I was nothing, and you were everything.
When everything in my life went downhill and I grasped onto you for support, I blamed you for letting me crash and burn; for letting me hurt while you went to parties and changed girlfriends as quickly as some people changed clothes. It was you that threw away my trust in guys, you that didn’t know how to be a friend, you that broke my heart into a million little pieces.
In the past year, I’ve grown up. It was partly you that didn’t make me trust guys but it was also the torment of guys over the years and my own dad but it was also me, because I didn’t forgive and forget. It was me that didn’t know those boundaries that have always been set between you and me. It was me that let your opinion matter so much that I hurt so long. Don’t get me wrong, you said some wrong things, but I wasn’t blameless; I just took it all out on you because I didn’t know what else to do. For that, I apologize.
Since the last time I “talked” to you, I’ve done a lot of thinking and a whole lot of learning about myself. It’s been hard; there’s no doubt about that. I’ve shed many tears, I’ve yelled, I’ve cursed, I even threw in the towel a few dozen times. I thought that I’d be able to understand exactly what went on between us after you ceased to make me sick; after I’d moved on, but I realize that I still don’t. Now all we do is exchange glances on the bus.
The more I recover, and the more I relapse, the more I realize how hard it would be to try to fit in with you and your friends. I’d always be “the white girl” and I’d always be the last to know everything. Maybe I would have lasted with you and your friends. Who knows? From what I can tell now, most of them don’t much like me anymore, so to try would be pointless.
However, we both know I do a lot of stupid things. I trip up stairs, I run into people (even when I see them first), I hang out with a bunch of guys who usually ignore me half the time. What’s another stupid thing on my record?
Sincerely,
Me
((Hugs)) to you.