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mood |
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 groggy |
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tonight, i wrote an email to someone i've never spoken to before.
about everything in my life. who i want to be, about how i'm desperate for control, how i feel ignored sometimes. about my family, the abuse i've seen, the good times i've had and the people in my life, past and present. who i love, who i used to love, and who i'd like to hate. that i feel overwhelmed, and alone.
i wrote about what i had for dinner, and what i want to do in 20 years. about what the local hangouts are like, and what i see when i close my eyes this evening.
i tried to describe my favourite sound, without naming it directly. i constructed my favourite fantasy, and told them why it makes me feel silly for having it.
i described my smallest accomplishment, one that would seem insignificant to anyone else, but means the world to me. i mentioned what makes my eyes well up with tears, and causes my chest to feel tight.
i told them all the medication i've ever taken. all the drugs that i've ever done. what it's like to be brainwashed for two years. how much of him i see in myself.
an idea for an invention, a scene in a book that has stuck with me, what i've lied about in the past 24 hours.
a confession, a regret, an apology, and the thing i fear most in the world.
i wrote everything i want anyone to know about me. the things that make me who i am.
the things i can't tell anyone i actually know. things that connect me to places and people and back again. worries and concerns that would mean too much, or nothing at all to people who knew me in context. the thoughts that i have that are too weird, too upsetting, too inane to tell anyone else, wether or not they'd actually listen (they wouldn't).
but to this person, i am that email, and nothing more. my existance, my connections, my ideas end with that email, in their plane of existance.
and that's why i wrote the letter.
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