Unsent letters (#7?)

Dear Eddie,

We were both so young when we met. I was still naïve as can be–A child in every way, but you were always somehow not. You’d seen more of the world and had a different understanding of its ways than I did, and I was intrigued by you. You surprised, amazed, excited, and slightly frightened me with your eager go-getter personality. You had no fears and no worries in the world because everything was in motion already so you had accepted and given up the notion of control. I on the other hand feared and worried about any and everything (and largely still do). You were absolutely certain about yourself and about your love for me, and you always made sure I knew and understood that. From the start you were crystal clear about your intentions and asked me to be too. I remember being blown away at how you just knew we’d be good together and knew how much we needed each other. You knew me for such a small window of time but there was no question you knew me through and through with my eating disorder, my complicated guilt-complex, my insecure questionable sexual orientation, and the voices in my head.  But you always loved me for me. You never judged or questioned these “difficult” parts of myself but just accepted them and welcomed them if ever they came up but never budged for more. In this way you made me feel like I was normal like we could be a normal couple. And we were for some time, but there were simply things out of our control.

The truth is. You were gone before I could even say good-bye. That winter you got your transplant and left back to Mexico with your mom. Happy and healthy you left that Christmas with the hopes of keeping some communication, but I needed distance and a clear end. I thought you were in the clear and you deserved someone unbroken to be with. So, I let you go and never responded to your Myspace messages and emails. I thought you were better off without me because I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be as certain of my affection for you as you were. I am a nervous and uncertain mouse where you were a courageous and absolutely fearless lion when it came to love. Time passed and my memories of you faded as new things and new people came into my life. 18 months later, my sister got the news of your passing, and a small part of me died. You were gone, and I couldn’t understand. You were healthy and young I remember reasoning “You had a transplant!” I yelled. But no reasons could shake the truth: you were dead, and there was nothing I could do about it. Life was like you always said it was: out of our control. So I boxed up my sadness, confusion, and frustration up for a future time I might be able to process this.

And every once in a while I let myself remember and relive our past. I laugh and sing at the top of my lungs as I hear a song you once serenaded me with. I cry as I think of what you missed and should have had in life. And I wonder what you’d say and think of me now that I’ve grown into myself. But most of all, I remember that I’m better for having known you. You taught me so much and continue to live on in my heart as I unravel more things you have yet to teach me.

I’m sorry I could never bring myself to say this, but I did and probably will always love you.

❤ lifeasanagoraphobe

*I’m a strong supporter of donating whether that’s signing up to donate your organs when you’re deceased or live anonymous or non-anonymous donations of bone marrow, kidney, liver, and blood. Although relapses are possible and donations aren’t always an absolute cure to serious illnesses, donations do make a difference and can save lives. So please think about donating and what that means for you and for another being or beings*

1st installation of The story of my body

Dear Future Lovers,/My declaration of my “dating Bill of Rights for the mentally ill”

There are many things I could start and maybe should disclose, but there’s also a lot I want you to know nothing about. There’s a lot of me that I’d like to chain and lock away the key to. And I have the right to disclose and not disclose as I see fit. Not out of shame per say, but because I don’t want to see that change in the way you view me. I don’t want to be seen as something to take care of, as something damaged and fragile, as someone indecisive and insecure. There are also a lot I cannot always shield you from that you will undoubtedly come to see as common place (IE, emotional breakdowns, self harm, emotional distance, depression, panic attacks, flashbacks, my codependent relationship with my cat, and me popping needed prescribed pills). So, tread lightly and be prepared to respect and establish boundaries and understandings of your own. While I’m asserting my needs right now, this is a two-way street, and your concerns, needs, and feelings are also important.

As for me, my “baggage” is exactly that—MINE. Meaning, this is my cross to bear, my inner workings to understand, and I need not your help or pity to get me through it. I can, and I will work through this. I will be “okay” one day, but I’m not asking you to make me okay nor am I asking you to wait until I’m “okay”. The truth of the matter is that if you wait and wait for that, I won’t want to be with you because a person who is hoping and praying for something other than what and where I am right now is wasting their time. My working on being “okay” will a life long struggle. I won’t ever stop being a work in progress! Yes, of course perhaps later in a few months, a few years, a few eons, I will no longer need medication or need as regular therapy because I will have gained and solidified my coping skills, but I’m never going to be 100% “okay”. I’m likely always going to be teetering back and forth without ever telling anyone about it because not being “okay” is also okay with me. Not being at 100% sometimes is exactly what I need. Struggling with my “baggage” and working through “it” is and will continue to be a large portion of my life. My “recovery” has no deadline. Therefore, understand, that I am as I am and offer nothing more nor nothing less.

If you can actually jell with all that, I’m asking you to butt out, and let me be me. Let me do what I need to do for me, and maybe we can catch some boba some other time. Don’t try to absorb me into your loving embrace and “make all my demons go away”. That’s not how this works. I don’t need a hand to hold and a mind to remind me of my sanity; I need someone who can remind me that I am more than my troubles. I need someone who sees more than just my story and can suit whatever my current likings are on that given mindset, time, and environment.

The story of my body may be wrecked with poison, thorns, and hate, but I am not. I am and am not my body. So, trust me when I ask you to separate the two in order to view me in the here and now before you, not as some “broken”, “injured beyond repair”, “inspirational”, “surreal”, “awe inspiring”, and “complicated” story, but as a quirky, impulsive, creative, curious, and optimistic individual. Hold my gaze for just one minute and tell me you see more than where and what my body has been through, then maybe you’re ready to be a part of my life or maybe you’re just stubborn and reckless.

                                Consistently questioning your judgment,

Yours truly.