Dear Former Best Friend,
I’m sorry i get drunk and do stupid stuff and i can’t believe i stole that $200 bucks from you. But i hope you know its going for a good thing, my court, and dont act like your mom or dad cant give you more money. I literally have noone and i have to take care of my brother. Yes, you have a kid but you have multiple people who wil help you. I have noone. Literally. I feel horrible but if there was one thing i wish it would be that i just took the whole wallet and i know that makes me a horrible person. Sorry that i did that. But im more sorry i got caught. This is me apologizing. I can now say that i told someone and i feel tons better.Ill make it up to you one day.
Dear Former Best Friend,
Please bless those who seek you. Please provide shelter for those who are without shelter. Please provide food for those that are hungry. Please provide heat for those that are cold. Please provide strength for those who have none left. Please bless those who seek to heal the wounds that others cause. Please hear our pleas, our and sighs of despair.
To the love of my life,
I love you. In a really big, achingly beautiful and utterly terrifying way. You have been able to make me happier than I ever thought possible, but you also have the power to break my heart without warning. I am so tired of being disappointed. I feel like these last months have been exhausting and I don’t know how much longer I can keep pulling this relationship along. Day in and day out I feel like I am holding the weight of us on my shoulders, without any help from you. Do you even care? Are you still in this with me?
Communication has always been a difficult thing for me. There are a million different thoughts whirling around my head and I can’t control them anymore. I’m upset. I’m heartbroken that you constantly choose your best friend over me. That his opinions and ideas are more important than mine. Do you realize how much that hurts? Do you realize how my heart breaks everytime you decide that you would rather make him happy than me? I am your girlfriend. You told me I was everything, yet you act like I am just another person you can piss off because I will “just get over it”. I’m not getting over it. I’m crying myself to sleep because I have all these thoughts and no one to tell.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m trying. I’m trying so hard to tell you that I am not happy, yet you’re always more interested in the football game on TV, or the episode of Community on Netflix. Really? Abed’s latest pop culture reference is more captivating than me confessing that I am unhappy? I just don’t understand.
It’s probably my fault. Actually, I know it’s my fault. I deserve better, but so do you. I’m sorry, but I can’t carry this weight anymore.
It’s over. It’s so over
Well, today marks the first anniversary of your death. And I can’t even begin to tell you how much I still miss you. How much everyone still misses you. You should see what people are still posting to you on Facebook. Just randomly, not only on days like today. It’s like everyone has some connection to you. No matter what anyone does, they think of you while doing it. And I read their stories and I can imagine you there, laughing and smiling and carrying on and I wish you were still here to do all that. I want you to laugh with me on Thanksgiving, and Christmas, and my birthday.
I just really miss you, Davis.
I love you.
I was taken by you immediately. Too shy to speak for so long and finally things moved on and now you’re mine.
We’ve been through good times, and some really bad times and I struggle now with the change. Have I changed you? Or have you/we grown up? Do I restrict the person you are? Or are you simply moving on to fresh pastures.
You want to go and be back with what/who you know. I am scared and unwilling for so many reasons.
If I go, I’ll lose me…and possibly the ‘you’ I know….If I don’t, I’ll lose you completely…
Life without you? The thought is unbearable. But life without me…will be a different kind of unbearable for us both.
I’ve tried to find ways/reasons/compromise…I’ve begged you to help me with things I need to do this and you don’t understand or empathise with my feelings. I feel like I’m screaming into a vaccum….
Do you love me? I do love you, really I do, more than myself sometimes….but sometimes you make me feel like a prop rather than someone who means as much as anything else in your life. Your family, your friends, your country, travel… You seem to be able to stand up and fight for everything but me. So I feel isolated and confused.
It seems yet again I’ve been kidding myself. Living with the belief things are a certain way when they are far from it…completely deluded. And just wishing your passion extended to me….
I love you, and I know I’m going to lose you soon….and I miss you already….
Dear Oldest Son,
You and I both have a temper. I wish I could take away the words we’ve screamed, the doors we’ve slammed, and the tears we’ve shed. I hurt for both of us.
We were doing so well for a while. You even helped me clean up the mess that wasn’t mine or yours; you kept me calm and you were so sweet and encouraging. Then just two days later, we almost caved in the bathroom door with our anger over a silly game.
I am sorry, so sorry, that you inherited this bad seed from me. I got it from my daddy, who scared me to death with his anger when I was little. I don’t want to scare you, son. I hope that my apologies are the difference. My daddy has never apologized once in his life. Even now, as he inches toward old age, he is bitter and bewildered by the saner people around him. Please, let’s don’t be like that, you and me. We can do better than this.
I know that I have to let your heart soften toward me again. I know that you are young, and your hurts are deep, but your capacity to heal and trust and start over is vast. I will be here for you always. We will begin again.
This is the third time you’ve heard from me, and I’m sorry for that. Sometimes you have to keep dreaming, you know? Maybe this year will be different and I’ll have some grand epiphany when I seal this letter up and send it up to you, wherever you may be. I apologize, Santa: this letter is a bit all over the place, but I just needed to get it out to you as soon as it came to mind.
I’m so very lonely, Santa. Locked inside this prison that’s supposed to be ‘home.’ For so many years I have longed for a Christmas as I wrote to you two years ago. A Christmas tree. Stockings. Cookies. Music. That magic that is there whenever you plug the lights in and stare at the tree, mesmerized as tinsel reflects the colours along the wall. There’s a magic to Christmas I have only dreamed of, and there’s a magic in me that’s dying.
For the first time in so many years I haven’t listened to Christmas carols—I just haven’t had the heart to turn on the radio to the station that plays only Christmas songs. I’ve been consumed in a whirlwind of trying to keep my head above water in my studies and to keep land in sight. Now that I’m home, Santa, it seems I’m just wandering deeper and deeper out to sea. The darkness here is worse than ever before: there is no sunshine, there is no moonlight. ‘Home’ is being surrounded by alcoholism, screaming, emotional abuse. ‘Home’ is hearing my father repeatedly call his wife a bitch and be told to do physical things around the house when you get discharged from the emergency room in excruciating pain and needing surgery. ‘Home’ is a place without love or happiness. It’s a black hole that sucks the life out of me every moment I’m in it. I have no spirit to even put up what few little decorations I have personally, to wear my silly elf hat with the jingly bells. I don’t even want to bake Christmas cookies, and baking is my passion.
I’ve lost that spark, Santa—I’m starting to give up. There’s nothing I fear more than turning into my father and resenting Christmas. Being the epitome of Scrooge… but as the years pass, the sadness and the hurt just makes me hate the season more. Tis the season for festivities for some. Tis the season of darkness and sadness for others.
What hurts worst of all, Santa, is that the only people who have ever made me feel like I mean something, the only people that say they love me and I know mean it, live so very, very far away. It’s not about the presents, Santa, but I have one present all wrapped up and given to me weeks before Christmas. It’s hidden in a drawer, buried under bathing suits and other miscellaneous things so it can’t be found by my father. On Christmas day I will hide away in my room and gingerly unwrap it with tears in my eyes because I didn’t want to ruin the only present I’ll have to unwrap by unwrapping it early. Even if it’s the silliest, smallest thing in the world, it’s my one chance to unwrap something from someone that cares about me. That I care about. It’s my one opportunity to feel the paper beneath my fingers, slide my finger under the tape, and know that someone thought about me enough to go through the effort to get me something. To make me feel special even though they didn’t have to. The people that gave it to me, Santa, are some of the most loving, giving and generous people I am privileged to know. They are now, in the less than a year that I’ve known them, the best Christmas present of all. They listen, provide hugs and are there for me in ways I would never expect anyone to be. They’re my friends, and I love them, and I am so unbelievably blessed to have them in my life. For once, I can say I truly have friends. I’d give anything to have them closer to me, Santa. To magically appear on their doorstep or them on mine.
Maybe someday, Santa, I’ll be able to have that special Christmas with sugarplum fairies and reindeer. Remember me though, okay? Save me a rain check for a few years in the future to give me my Christmas spirit back and let me have that Christmas of childhood dreams with good company. With friends—the only ‘family’ that really matters. The only ‘family’ I need.
I’ll be waiting.
Maybe the Third Time’s the Charm?