Dear Colin Firth,
That’s the beginning of a normal letter, the start of a polite document, a professional declaration. This is none of those things. It’s not a normal letter, as I’m never going to send it to you. I will never expect you to read it nor understand the sentiments of it. It’s not a polite document as there is nothing polite about the inner-workings of my brain. It can’t be a professional declaration, neither, as I’m not a professional and this is no way a real declaration of any kind. Now that we’ve gotten what it isn’t out of the way, let me say what this is. It’s everything I wish I could say to you and also nothing I will likely ever say to you though I did attempt through your wife’s instagram, which I regretted as soon as I did it. Anywhom, let us commence with my word vomit.
Thank you. I could repeat that phrase for hours and still never fully convey how thankful I am for you and your existence. Your talent, of course, is nothing to do with me. I don’t have any impact on your life. I’m a 19 year old American girl that you’ll never meet, never have any reason to think about, and that you have no idea idolizes you so and yet you’ve had such an impact on my life that it’s almost unreal. I’ve spent the last 6 months watching your movies and interviews for reasons that I can’t totally understand. It’s not lust or infatuation as you’re the same age as my father and I find that a strange concept. I could also never look to you as a father figure as the idea of hugging you like I do my dad makes me feel like crying though the idea of hugging my dad also puts tears in my eyes but that’s simply homesickness. You’re not quite my hero as I don’t believe in the idea of other people saving me from anything even if it’s myself. I suppose what I consider you is somewhat of a sidekick to my recovery. You’re the sidekick to the hero that is me. I am saving myself with your inadvertent unknowing aide.
I suppose for my second paragraph, I should explain how you’re my sidekick rather than just excessively ramble until you, who are not going to be reading this, tire of my ridiculousness.
You’re my sidekick because in March of 2018, I tumbled into a dark and deep pit. There’s was a small sliver of light and so I grasped at it. It turned out to be Kingsman: The Secret Service. That was my light. After that, another light showed up. It was the Golden Circle. For a few months, I only had these two small lights but they helped me see. They gave me the motivation to take a leap and go to France in May. Come July and I got into a car crash but it was like my entire life was what crashed instead of two vehicles. I couldn’t see anymore. The lights weren’t enough, I didn’t have anything to hold me up and keep me going. I spent a few weeks in my aunt’s home sitting in the dark room that she was letting me use and I wallowed. I cried and I felt like I should just go home because there was nothing for me. Then Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again decided to make its way into my life. I watched it and there you were again. Your beautiful smile and amazing acting. I made the decision to begin watching as many of your movies as I could just to see you smile and hear your voice. After I made that decision, I started taking care of myself. Showering daily, eating every meal, and helping around the house. I started making an effort to be a human being. I still cried every night but I didn’t just sit and drown. And finally, as I mentioned in a previous letter, I tried to watch A Single Man. Now, it took me over a week to do so; to watch 1 hour and 41 minutes starring you in all of those minutes. Seems rather silly, I suppose, without context. The reality of it is that I couldn’t watch more than the first 15 minutes at first. I tried everyday for a week and everytime I would sob the entire time. You were splaying my feelings in front of my face and reopening wounds that I never let heal properly. I could see my hurt on your face and I couldn’t stand it. So I watched other movies in the meantime. What A Girl Wants, Love Actually, Hope Springs, A Summer In Genoa. Finally I decided to dive in. I watched the whole thing and I cried the entire time. I cried for George and I cried for me. I let myself cry for all of the hurt that I never did before. And that, was you throwing me the rope. I had to drag myself out but you tossed me the rope. And every interview I watched where you smiled and laughed and were so genuinely lovely, those were the encouragements. Those were what kept me climbing the rope instead of falling again.
Perhaps it’s silly. I’m claiming that you helped me help myself but you’ve never met me. You’ve never heard of me or my struggle. I’m just another fan that you assume would scream if they saw you. Which, I wouldn’t. I’d probably choke and have so many feelings that I would have a heart-attack but that’s beside the point. I am nothing to you aside from yet another teenage girl that reblogs your face on tumblr. Another teenage girl that thinks you’re beautiful. And to me, you’re everything I want to be as a person. Successful, doing what you love for a living, and hopefully, happy. You’re kind, funny, and an activist. You strive to help others and I only wish that I could do that. I hope I end up half as great as you are. I hope I have the ability to apologise for my mistakes and be kind to those that are not kind to me.
I might write to you again. More word vomit in a document of a letter that you are never going to read but it, perhaps, is my way of coping. My way of expressing that, while you may be a part of it, I am the hero of my own story. You are merely my millions of miles more attractive sidekick. I say merely but I would choose you as the hero of my story if I could. Unfortunately I have to be my own hero.
Thank you. Thank you ever so kindly and ever so much. I hope one day I might be able to express my gratitudes in person.
A 19 Year Old American Girl Trying to Find Herself in the South of France