Suited

Twenty One

The first family therapy session was on Wednesday but I spent that time sitting on the beach with a blank sheet of paper, a pen, and the task to write my father a letter. I hadn't invited my parents or Gabriel to the session and I didn't plan to. Next week was the final one and they wouldn't be at that one either. Even though things were looking up, I was still hesitant. It was almost too perfect. The rug would be pulled out from under me at any moment.

I spent a long time staring at that blank sheet. I began to resent it and eventually him for being the reason I had to write a letter in the first place. Sure it was my stupidity—Hold on. I wasn't allowed to call myself stupid anymore—my poor decision-making that led to me using for the first time but if he never gave me my stash after I was hospitalized, I probably would have been better years ago. If he didn't tell me I was a pain to deal with clean, I probably wouldn't have used as much. My tolerance wouldn't have been as high. I wouldn't be on a regimen. I wouldn't be on an antidepressant.

I hadn't seen the results of that yet. I took my second dose this morning. I was told I'd see improvement in a week or two and full benefits after a month. Unfortunately for my father, he wouldn't see much of that. I'd be living with Signore by the time it kicked in.

Despite all that, I was meant to write.

Father,

I never know what to say to you. I never get to say anything to you. Frankly, I don't have any good memories with you that don't involve me being high. Though there were probably a few in my childhood, I don't remember them. My memory is horrible now. I'm supposed to write this letter to you because I didn't invite you to family therapy but I wasn't sure what to say. I've probably cut off a chunk of my life expectancy so here are things I'd want you to know in case I die before you do.

1. Those white Calloway Chromes you lost are in the lake. I don't remember when I threw them there but that's where they are. I know you don't like swimming.

2. You didn't protect my feelings so I won't protect yours. You were enabling, negligent, and mean for what I can remember of my life. I see you changing now and honestly it just makes me mad but at the same time I don't want you to stop. I want you to make peace with what you did. I don't want it to be looming over you forever. I wouldn't wish what I've been through on anyone. Not even you. Even if you probably deserve it because you did it. That's why the worst thing I ever did to you aside from existing was pitch your golf balls into the pond.

3. I'm going back to uni. I'd ask you to be proud but I genuinely don't care if you are or not. Lucas wants me to and Jessie's helping with the logistics. I'm really happy with Lucas and hopefully reading this won't make you lose your shit and get him deported or something because I've never been happier. I'm not the greatest but I'm better than I've been in the past few years. If you sent him away, I'd probably go with him.

I'm still alive. He makes me want to keep being alive. He makes me not want to use. He's helping me learn to be well-rounded. He makes me not want to hate you as much. I hate the part you have in my "issues," as you put it, but I don't hate you. I don't particularly like you either though, but I guess we can work on that. I'll see if Evert can book us in for a session in a few weeks once my Prozac kicks in. If you meant what you said about being interested, you can call me and ask who he is—again, once the meds kick in. Sterling let me drop the vitamins and upped my Prinzide. I'll let you google those.

Anyway, it's almost lunch time so I'm gonna stop now. Food is more important than whatever this letter can be considered. It's not a goodbye. I'm not gonna kill myself. I'm too tired and Jessie has all of my meds hidden somewhere.  Maybe it's a thank you for fucking up raising me bad enough to get me professional help and a man. I'm not sure but if you read this much of it then I guess I should thank you for considering my thoughts for once.