"A dead letter is a letter that has never been delivered because the person to whom it was written cannot be found, and it also cannot be returned to the person who wrote it"
Did you know that writing letters to loved ones who have passed away is an effective way of moving on the grieving process? I was told that about a week or so after Shane died. I needed to find some way of getting past his death. I was too focused on him. I knew I had to move past it but I just didn't know how. I didn't see a point in the letter writing at first then I realised that it may have been an effective method of grieving.
I used to write and send a letter to him every day. There was just so much that I still needed to say. There was so much that I needed to keep on telling him. He was missing out on so much.
But every letter I wrote would be sent back to me the very next day. I cried for hours the first few times it happened. You see, something had happened inside of me and I'd snapped. I lost all sense of reality. I seemed to have forgotten that Shane had died; to me he was still very much alive. I got angry because he returned all my letters without a single response. Not a single one was ever even opened; he just sent them all back. I couldn't believe he would do that to me. I couldn't understand why he would hurt me like that.
I spent months in this crazy hyper-reality. No one understood why I got so sad and angry when my letters came back. They didn't know that I thought Shane was still alive. They didn't know that I was trapped inside my own mind, unable to let Shane go. Nobody noticed that I was a broken man instead of the man I had once been. Nobody noticed that I didn't care anymore. Nobody noticed my pain. And I couldn't get help; I didn't see anything badly wrong with myself. I knew there was something wrong but if I got help then Shane would disappear, I couldn't let Shane go. So I couldn't get help. I had to stay like this and go through the pain every day.
I assumed that I lost my grip on reality because something about moving on seemed unforgivable of me and I hated myself for even considering it. It seemed almost like I was trying to forget Shane; like I was trying to force him out of any memory that I still had of him. I knew Shane would hate me for giving in to the grief. He'd call me a pansy and tell me to man up. He'd want me to live my life and carry on as best as I could without him. It sounds easy when said like that, but it isn't as easy as it sounds.
I kept every single letter in a little wooden box that I hid under my bed so no one could ever find it. It had a padlock and key, so if it ever was found, no one could open it because I had the only key. That box was very special to me. I never opened the letters after they were returned, so after a while, even I didn't know what was written in them.
I never really came out of the hyper-reality and everything just seemed to get worse.
I was low all the time. I was depressed. Nothing seemed worth my time anymore. Inside my mind I was always angry, but at least I was slightly happy because Shane was still alive. But in the real world Shane wasn't alive. He was dead and never coming back. No amount of letter writing was going to change that. Nothing was going to bring him back to me. But a very small part of me refused to believe it.
I came to the conclusion that life without Shane wasn't worth it. Shane had been my best friend. He was my better half. For every childish thing I ever did he was there to doctor the situation and say something mature. For every little thing I did wrong he was there to mend it. He was everything I never was and would never be able to be. I needed him. He was always there to keep me on the straight and narrow but now he wasn't. I wasn't on the straight and narrow anymore. But he was. He was in a straight and narrow wooden fucking box, buried six feet under.
I let the misery engulf me. I let my grief take me hostage. And I drowned in my sorrows. I couldn't function anymore. I found it too difficult. Nothing interested me anymore. Nothing was worth it. I spent most of my time sleeping. When I slept Shane was always with me. He was more realistic in my dreams. Shane felt real when we touched, I could hear him clearer, see him clearer, I even thought I could smell his familiar scent; the one smell that felt like home and made me feel happy and safe. When I woke up I could swear that I felt him near me.
I got into the habit of taking sleeping pills so I could sleep longer just so I could be with Shane for longer.
I picked up a pen and paper and started to write another letter.
Hey Shane,
I wish you'd answer my letters. You don't have to write a lot; just one word would be enough. Please write back to me. I miss you. I just want to know if you're okay. And I want to tell you so much.
I see you in my dreams, y'know. The longer I sleep the more real you become.
I'm going to go to sleep now. I'll see you soon.
I love you, dude. Always have, always will.
Yours dearest friend,
Drew xx
I sealed the letter and placed it next to me. I'd ask Kier to post it for me when I woke up.
I found my bottle of sleeping pills and tipped a bunch into my hand. The more pills I took the longer I would sleep for. That's how it worked.
I downed every last one of the pills and lay down. I rested my head against the pillow and let my heavy eyes slide shut.
