Dear Spencer

𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚞𝚎 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝟸

Dear Spencer,

This is not a Romance story. This is not a family drama. This is not a coming-of-age story. This is not eve a story about healing. Although the following pages contain the themes listed above.

This is not even a diary although I'm sure it closely resembles one and I've been told to journal by multiple therapists over the past four years.

This is a letter.

A letter I've been working on for four long, excruciating years and I've been trying to figure out how to end it.

Allow me to try again, I'll start at the beginning.

Dear Spencer,

Bear with me on the clichés for a minute because I can't remember the last time, I've written a letter. Probably to my grandparents, or aunts and uncles? I honestly haven't a clue. Maybe Dear is too old fashion.

Hey Spencer,

Too awkward?

I'm too awkward, I know.

What's up Spencer?

I'm not really a conversationalist. I'd like to blame that on my selective mutism but honestly, it's feels like it's always been like this.

Perhaps insecurities, perhaps nature, or nurture.

I have five older siblings. I'm a twin and still the youngest. I'm bound to have some hang ups. 

I have four brother's and one sister.

My sister is a blessing among four boys in the house. She sides with me on every argument.

I was the baby sister she always wanted but that changed the year I was set to sign with the Olympic U.S.A. figure skating team.

I feel guilty for that because the bond she so desperately wanted with me, I shared with our middle brother, Levi.

Levi was not just my older brother, he's my best friend. He understands me better than I know myself most days. There are times, and situations where I swear, he could read my mind or know how I would react before I could ever put it into words. He understands the way I think.

Levi could read me through and through.

And that was difficult because I lived inside myself most days.

My old therapists had said I was coping. My new therapist calls it hiding.

Except for the, now rare, situations when panic would ensue, and a wave would wash over me drowning me in trauma. Words got stuck in my head and never left my mouth.

Then she'd say that I was protecting myself.

Levi knew that before my therapist and myself.

If it weren't for Levi...

Levi is the only one who knew what happened. Really knew and I'm not talking about the reports afterward, the documents, news articles and the plethora of other documents that laid claim to a such a clinical breakdown of that day.

Levi witnessed it.

Levi was there.

Levi is always there.

Fuck, is this even...

Let me try again, okay. This is only my rough draft after all.

Dear Spencer,

It's a hot Arizona afternoon and my Led Zeppelin band tee shirt is clinging to my back with sweat. My hands are also slick with sweat as I grip my now empty icee tightly. My sweaty state is a good portion weather and nerves for today. I've only lived in Tuscan, Arizona for a little over two months now. We moved from New York City in mid-April and still have a month left of summer before my senior year started. My parents, well really my family decided the move was necessary, and I agreed wholeheartedly.