Hi.
I am 100% sure no-one is reading this, so it's pretty safe to write you this. If you ever are reading this - hi! Please email me. It's the same. More about that towards the end if you'd like to skip to that.
I'm not sure if I miss you, yourself most. Or if it's the idea of you. Or if you are the place I go - the place I've always gone since I was 19 - when I need a safe place. Maybe you always will be.
It's not that I'm not dealing with the problems in my life. I am. But I don't have that safe place, you know? Outside of my own imagination? I'm on a fishing-trip-that-wasn't in Valdez that turned into a therapy session that is now journalling that will soon be a couple of other things, of course.
There are lots of things I wish I could talk to you about. I'm watching Shiny Happy People. My parents haven't really let up with the same expectation we (I think?) grew up with. The one about my husband "guiding" me.
Honestly - most of what I've been hearing lately about myself and my choices have been critical. I've grown in lots of ways, but I'm still rejection-sensitive. Nevertheless there's the feeling in my gut that I have - that I've always had, even during meltdowns - that I'm not wrong. However, I acknowledge the decisions I make are not always the writ large best decisions.
But, for the most part, they are the ones I believe are right at the time. More about that later. Apology incoming. And who could say any differently about their own decisions, really? How shitty to say "you make bad decisions" over and over and over again! Always is such a lot of times! Also - not a very constructive way to approach me, the grown-ass woman who <<insert aspects of Shiny Happy People here>>.
That being said, I'm trying to be open to the opinions of my husband. My parents. My in-laws. I'd say my friends, but I need to do a better job connecting with them about what's really going on. Without burdening them, I guess. Or even with burdening them. That's how connection works, right?
God I miss you.
We had a conversation in which I think I said I tried to think about calling my parents and interacting with them as a reminder of what I never want to be. This is largely still true. I was just so busy working through my childhood trauma as employed in early childhood for a decade that I kind of lost track of that thought. Well, I'm right back there now.
Having this time to...process, basically, before I start grad school in the Fall is necessary. Having this time to, potentially, work out how I want to express my beliefs to my child rather than just leaving her with my parents (who are treating her essentially the same way they treated me and my brother; a little softer, but the soul of it is the same - and they are teaching her about the Christ) or my in-laws (who are treating her mostly well, but I mean, you know, are very much of the school of thought that emotions are Not Okay To Express Or Talk About).
I've been thinking about you a lot lately. Or, maybe always? I seem to have moved past acceptance to the other side (yay, more grief). And I am sorry. These feelings are complex. Sometimes far away and sometimes sitting on my shoulder. I think you are always going to be a part of me - a part I wish I could talk to, but can't. The most adult part of me puts their hands gently on my shoulders and tells me it's deluded to believe I ever could. Other parts believe. It's a time-consuming interplay.
I'm very hopeful that you are happy, living a fulfilled life, and that your days are filled with things you like to do and people you love. That you aren't stuck in call center hell, or getting ground down by middle schoolers.
Maybe you're tangled up in memories I can't touch - the ones of my older half-brother who died. The ones I can't remember. But I can remember you. And what it felt like to be your friend. And then in secret love with you. And then in not-secret love with you. And then.
Sorrow doesn't even begin to encompass it. I'm sorry that I was such an asshole to you. I regret how I spoke to you. The terrible things I did. Not staying an extra day. You deserved so much more and better - especially given what a wonderful human you are and were - and I hope you have that now.
...this is a letter I can't send. I have no way of contacting you. And that's its own sort of preemptive response. Silence is an answer. A wall is an answer. Me not wanting to hurt you is a factor. There's this image of reaching out and every touch lacerating you. I don't want that.
But I do fucking miss you. And I wish you joy.
- Clara
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