They said… They said this would help. You know, considering the situation. I feel stupid doing this, writing to someone who won’t read it. And doing the actual writing. It’s been years since I’ve handwritten a letter. I don’t think I’ve ever sent you one. Maybe I should have.
You know I’m sorry. You know I regret everything that happened. You know I miss us. I won’t dwell on that, because that is not what this is about. I will… They said remembering the good times is better than reliving the bad. Maybe they’re right.
The first time you bought me lunch, we had known each other for two weeks. Dustin had invited you over to play Mario Kart and when you got up to grab a beer, you saw that our fridge was… pitiful, you said. I remember Dustin saying that they all ate in the cafeteria, except for me. You came over to my side of the couch, remember, and looked at me for a while. It seemed a lot. Then you left. Just like that. Dustin accused me of scaring you off. When you came back, you brought Thai food with you. For me. I think that was when I realized you were there to stay.
You were my friend. Not my only friend, but the one that knew me. You saw me. I miss that. I miss you. If you don’t believe me, the fact that I’m writing you letters on a notebook should be proof enough.
Chris saw me writing the letter yesterday. He stood there for a long time, with his watery emotional eyes. All of them think I’m going to do something stupid. Just because you’re not… there anymore. But then, he, Chris, just came over and hugged me. He said it was a good way of dealing with the pain, this. I don’t really think so. I think I’m not moving forward when I should.
We used to sit together in Gen Ed classes. Remember that? I would code and ignore the professor and you would listen enraptured and take those color-coded, brilliant notes. It seems like a million years ago. Those classes were crappy, but you loved them. You said it was cool to go to classes with me. I never said anything, but I liked it too.
Today is one of the good days. I can remember the good and not obsess over the bad. You used to think it was useless to dwell on bad memories, that they were only there to cause more pain. Today I am alright. Not fine. Not well. But today I can remember why I loved you and how you made me smile.
I promised I would write everyday. Every single day, I’d write about me and how I felt and I would remember a good moment, a good memory. Today I can’t. Today is not a good day.
What I want to remember today is the feel of your skin under my fingers. It obsesses me. It drives me crazy. I can’t forget your smell, your touch, the sight of your eyes full-blown with lust. I never said so, but you never looked as good as when you’d just had sex with me. You looked so happy.
That’s what I can’t forget, much that I want to. You looking happy. I miss you being happy and I miss myself being happy.
This is why this was a bad idea.
I do not want to forget you. God, I wish I never had to. You were part of myself and I miss not being able to tell where you start and I finish.
It’s the thought of you being happy that hurts the most. For weeks after it happened, I was numb, functioning without thinking. I went to work, I signed papers, I attended meetings. I didn’t sleep. The only thing I could see when I closed my eyes was you smiling. I wanted to erase all that happened between us from my brain and, at the same time, I knew that it was the only thing I had.
After a few weeks, I got help. That’s why I’m doing this. The day of your birthday, I got so drunk Sean got me to the ER. Imagine that. Sean being worried that I was too drunk.
Today’s memory is Christmas. Not the first one, but the second. When we were already. Yeah. That Christmas. My mother baked us cookies and we spent two days in bed, until you felt so bad about being ‘impolite’ that you dragged me out.
It’s summer already. You liked summer. I hated the heat, but you said that it was the only time of the year I was dressed appropriately. I wear shirts now, sometimes. Even ties. You’d be so proud. Well, no, probably not, because I take them off as soon as I can.
I miss you telling me to grab a jacket or forcing your fleece on me. I still have that one. It’s ratty and it’s old and everyone says I should throw it away, but I still wear it.
I probably shouldn’t.
The bad days are not there anymore. It’s worse now, I think. Because I can’t remember how I made you smile and I can’t manage to smile on my own. I’ve been drinking. A lot. I’m not doing… I’m not doing well on my own. I don’t think I’ll ever do.
Whoever said this was a good idea was wrong. I’ve written you 268 letters. One everyday. Since Sean dragged me to the ER first and then to a psychologist.
Dustin found me, one day. Drinking. He… He thinks I should go to rehab. He doesn’t understand. There’s this rage inside of me, this pain. I can’t be alone and I hate having someone around me. I think it’s because it’s the anniversary. I don’t… I can’t stop. There’s too much inside my head, it’s driving me crazy. I can’t stop the memories. I want to stop drinking, but that’s the only thing that mutes them.
Today is, officially, the anniversary. And this is the last letter I’ll ever write. I don’t think this is the easy way out, but the only one. I am too scarred to ever recover. You were the only thing that grounded me and, without you, I’m floating away and I’ve forgotten what it was like. To feel. It’s been a year and it’s over for me, the same way it was over for you.
Someone else will find this. They will say I was too much of a coward. They will say I didn’t seek help when I needed it. I don’t want help. I want you.