Hindsight

12/17/20

L,

It's getting harder.

I feel so hopeless. All I can do is plan and prepare for your escape, and then just wait. I'm trying to cope with all of it. My coping strategies are weird. Fire example, writing notes to you because it feels like a piece of you is still here. Videotaping myself as if I'm having a conversation with you because saying things out loud feels better than just writing them down. Sleeping with your hoodie to convince myself you're still sleeping next to me.

I'm punishing myself.

I haven't relapsed yet. It's weird that the only thing preventing me from doing so is the fact that, when the urge arises, I'm so deep into a downward spiral that my legs don't work. I guess it's the lesser of two evils. But I started listening to music that we would listen to together just to relive those moments again. I put on shows we would put on just for ambient background noise again. It hurts a lot, but it also feels nice. I don't know how or why. Can't explain it really.

My mind is messy.

Mom wanted to spend time with me yesterday. Took me bowling and bought some fabric. I didn't like it. I didn't want to go anywhere anyway because of the fucking plague that no one seems to be paying attention to. It doesn't help that I hate leaving the house. You know that, of course. I was tired, anxious, and nauseous halfway through the night. Mom didn't notice.

I miss you.

I sometimes wonder what exactly is going through your head right now. Are you scared? Angry? Sad? Disappointed? I don't know. I miss being able to read the emotions on your face and in your body language. I miss being there to comfort you and hold you when you were struggling. I miss falling asleep on your chest while you talked to Z on the phone. Do you still have the burner? Did they take it after they took you back? Did you get your old phone returned to you?

I have so many questions.

I didn't realize this until I had to sleep without you, but you made it easier for me to go to sleep. You eased my mind in a way that few people can. I hope I can be able to do the same for you some day. Things don't feel the same without you. Nothing is as funny, scary, or exciting without you. My reactions seem blunted, but not in a good way. It sounds wrong.

Am I doing it again?

I think I am. Making it all about me, complaining about how hard it's been, writing letters just to keep me sane. I feel so selfish. So stupid. I mean, you're literally trapped in a messed up place that you've been abused and neglected in for well over a decade. And I'm in my little corner, throwing a major pity party, wearing a dull party hat and blowing a broken party buzzer.

I'm so tired.

I just want all of this to be over. I want to go to sleep and never wake up again. I want you to stop having to wait to be truly happy. I want you to be free. I want you to be okay. I want Z and N to get their beautiful, amazing partner back. I want E to get her new friend back. I want your parents to realize how fucked their method of parenting is by messing you up so badly.

I'm sorry.

You're not messed up or broken. You're perfectly normal. You're just very traumatized. You deserve better than to live with people that don't listen to you. You are valid and you are loved by so many. You are not a burden. You are not a mistake. You are beautiful and kind and thoughtful and empathetic and crazy smart and funny and honest. You're the whole package. Not to materialize you, of course.

I hope you're sleeping well.

I need to stop staying up until 4:00 AM. I don't do it intentionally, of course. I just get busy and then look at the clock and, oops! It's the ass crack of dawn. Usually it's the nausea that keeps me awake. Oh yeah, the nighttime anxiety nausea is back and in full swing. Didn't realize how much you helped that too. Oh well.

I'm sorry.

I guess I'm going to end up saying that at least once in every letter now. I hope you're okay. I hope you are okay. I hope you can forgive me enough for failing you this terribly. I'm sorry for confusing you with my feelings and about freaking out about mundane things and not trying to stop them. You have every right to be angry. Furious, even. It's perfectly allowed.

Yours,

L