Forgetful

Letter Two; Frank

Dear Frank,

Truth is, before I was on my death bed, I thought about writing this. I thought about writing letters, sending them, then running away. That was a long, long time ago though. It seems like it was decades ago, when really, that feeling of hopelessness was only a few months ago.

I have gotten happier since then, I guess. In fact, a lot has changed since then. More than any one person can imagine. I'm not even sure where to start, Frank. I'm afraid that I'll spend the rest of my days writing this letter, just because nobody is here to tell me when to stop.

Did you know that I used to be cronically depressed? That's why I started drinking last year. I went to counseling though, and I'm okay now. I mean, okay being the relative term. I don't think there is anything simply 'okay' about losing the ability to do basic human functions. It's just pitiful, really. A shell of a hopless man.

I would like to think you didn't know I was depressed. You and Alicia were the only people I would try to hide it from. Alicia simply because I knew she wouldn't understand. She doesn't understand a lot of things about me. If she knew half of who I am, she'd fret over me. I think a lot of people would, but I hide myself so much, they just assume that I like to be quiet.

The truth, Frank? I have things I want to say, I'm just scared of what people would think.

Frank, have you ever loved somebody so much that the thought of telling them was completely ridiculous? Loved them so much that you never told them how you felt, and then you deeply regretted it? It's a pain, Frank. It burns me and freezes my heart. It hurts, Frank. It hurts all the time.

I think I have been confused about my emotions for as long as I can remember. Maybe that has something to do with my memory, and I can't remember whether to be happy or sad or confused or worried. I'd like to think that's what it was, honestly, and I'm not just some pathetic, confused shell.

Perhaps that was the most unfortunate affliction of this disease. Personally, I think there is no other feeling worse than confusion. Not a single other emotion can make you feel so useless. So helpless. So hopeless.

I wish I could just tell you, Frank. I would just tell you. I would just blurt it out in one sentence in this goddamn letter.

Then, I could stop, couldn't I? I could stop writing letters. I could just stop, put down this pencil and go to sleep and wake up tomorrow and start living.

I can't do that.

It's 3:45 A.M. right now. I haven't slept in thirty-six hours. That's another side effect from this disease. I can't sleep. Alicia came in here earlier. She stood over my shoulder, watching me stare at the blank paper and tighten my grip around then pen. I could hear her breath, and maybe I was imagining it, the constant tap of her heart.

"Coming to bed, honey?"

The innocence in her voice broke my heart. There is so much she doesn't, or will ever, know. I glanced over my shoulder to see her standing there with her hands over her stomach, and for one horrible second, I thought she knew something she shouldn't

I choked on my answer as I turned back to my paper. "No."

And she left.

Sometimes, I wonder why she doesn't leave me in the middle of the night. Why she doesn't take a bag of her belongings and go. Maybe, deep down, her body already knows she is pregnant, yet her brain is not conciously aware. That tiny bit of maternal instinct inept in Alicia is what keeps her ties to me. It's the only thing. One fine fiber holding the blanket of our dismal relationship intact.

Someday, I feel that it will be entirely my duty to sever that fiber.

I think that just by running my pen along this paper is comparable to signing my own divorce papers even though we are not yet married. I guess this is me ending my one romantic relationship. The only one I ever had. The only female to ever love me.

I guess that's ironic for me.

I'm not sure that anybody would want to be in my presence anymore. Not now. Imagine what it would be like to wake up one day and find out that your loved one have forgotten your name, your face, who you even are. A stranger in the shell of somebody who used to love you.

I think that's what will tear Alicia and I apart before I tell her the truth that hurts so much more than my disease.

I cannot bear it any longer, Frank. It's killing me. It's killing Alicia, and it will soon be the death of my unborn child. Does that make me a monster?

There are a lot of things I don't understand, Frank. A lot of things. I never was good in school. I was always so forgetful. In my life, I suppose there has been one thing, one single, deadly truth, and there is no way I will ever be able to deny or hide it any longer.

Frank, I have been immensely in love with you since I met you.

At first, for years, I denied it. I denied everything. My sexuality. My feelings. My feelings for you. My feelings for life and music. The colors I wore. The things I said. The smile on my face,

But as more time inevitably drug by, I found that no matter how badly I wanted to be wrong, there was no escaping or hiding my feelings for you. So, I hid myself. I stayed very quiet, rarely speaking to anybody. I never showed my emotions for fear of revealing too much. I bet a lot of people noticed this. It was very hard not to, unless you just ignored me all together. I'd like to think a lot of people noticed. That somebody, anybody, took the time out of their precious day to look at me and say, "Hey, he doesn't look happy."

But they probably didn't.

This has been going on since 2000.

I remember when I met you, Frank. The day Gerard brought you to Ray and I. How young, yet mature, you were. I remember watching you in awe as you played in front of me for the first time. I think I knew, even then, that I loved you. I longed to be around you, yet the moments I was graced by your presence, I found myself to be an awkward, shaky, quiet teenager even though I am not.

Maybe that's why you always liked Gerard more.

Everybody has always liked Gerard more. For as long as I can ever even remember to the point, I regard myself as an afterthought. A library of encyclopedias about Gerard and a sticky note about Mikey. A golden, endless sea for Gerard and a black speck of dirt for Mikey. An arena full of fans for Gerard and a flea for Mikey.

I find the next part exceptionally hard to write or even think about. The truth is, Frank, I have never had feelings for Alicia. Not even before I knew you and she and I were only friends. At some point after I met you, I was so far in denial, I decided to try my own meager chances with a woman, and I happened to choose her, hoping somebody could change my feelings.

Little did I know, she had always had suppressed feelings for me and the day I asked her out, she sobbed for joy.

Frank, if I was any less of a coward, I would have came out and told her that my feelings for her were false.

I have been lying to the only woman who has ever loved me for ongoing four years.

As I am writing this, she still does not know, and I don't think she ever will. I'm losing more and more of myself each day. This morning is a blur. I lost my pen a few minutes ago, but I don't remember dropping it or it's color or whether it was a ballpoint or fountain pen. Why can I not remember?

It's only getting worse, and there is nothing I can do except wait for the day when all I can do is eat and excrete.

The sun is rising now, yellow, harmless light filling this haunted, black house. I can hear the morning sounds of Alicia awakening in the next room. Sad, sad sounds. Perhaps that's why she has always had an affinity for me. We're both very sad people.

I wish she was you, and I hate myself because I cannot love her. I wish I didn't love you. I wish I was normal. It is so hard to be different, Frank. Even when you are the only one who knows.

I can see myself in the mirror across from me now. I can see the monster behind my eyes.

I have always liked the night more. Th darkness masks my pain.

-Mikey