to the me i was before

To the me I was before,

I miss you, and I hope you're doing well, living happily in my memories and maybe the memories of a few others.

How is it, where you are? I'd like for you to come back from wherever that is. Nothing is the same now that you're gone, and every day I find myself thinking more and more on the person you were, and pining for what used to be.

You had friends. Sure, they seemed to dissipate once you hit college-- that's a common fact of growing up, friends stray-- but for a while you were a part of a group, unshakeable, thinking you'd be together forever.

You even had a couple of boyfriends, which were... interesting, to say the least. Still, you put yourself out there and kept imagining that one of them would be The One, even if they were from a tiny town where options were severely limited. It had to be fate, right? That's just how it was; you knew you'd find someone fast, and be happy, and fall effortlessly in love in true storybook fashion. You didn't need to look any further than good old Ste. Gen.

I guess you were pretty naïve.

You were also a pretty good student, a little forgetful when it came to deadlines and homework assignments, but you were a teenager. Teenagers forget, what else is new?

You smiled, and laughed. You made stupid snapchat filter videos that were annoying but all the rage at the time, you grew out your hair, you were thinner even though you thought you were fat. (Believe me, honey: looking back, you definitely weren't.)

You dreamed of becoming an English teacher, Dead-Poets-Society style, with the hopes that you could spur an interest in literature and allow teenagers like you to express themselves through writing. You imagined yourself loading up the car, waving goodbye to your parents, and driving across state lines to realize your dream at some distant, well-known college.

You loved marching band, and being a cheerleader. Nevermind that you couldn't do a cartwheel, because you considered yourself the comedic relief of the squad, and you were even in a couple comedies with the drama guild. Of course they were ALSO comedic relief roles (you weren't a great actress), but you had fun and that was arguably the most important thing.

You had personality, and spunk. You could be loud, annoying, and tiresome but there were people who likes you-- or at least fronted that they did-- and you were a person. A blooming, peaking little flower that was just finding her footing in the world. You had some sad days, yes, and some dark days, but you were good. You were great. You were so full of life.

But then some bad things happened, and that sort of changed everything for you.

You didn't get into that college of your dreams, but you did get into a local university with a couple scholarships, and that was good. You were excited, if nervous, but you went and met your roommate, joined the marching band, and found a couple more friends. Good ones, diverse ones. They made you think outside of that small-town box, and that was good for you.

A year in, you decided that maybe English teaching wasn't in your cards. It was fun, and you enjoyed it, but it only takes a few bad apples to ruin the bunch and it didn't seem very good after that. You decided to focus on your own love of English instead, much to the disappointment of the people around you. But that was okay, because YOU were happy. Right?

You found another boyfriend. A good one, a Catholic one, a deacon's-son one that seemed like he'd come out of a dream. He was everything your naïve little heart desired, and you tried to be good. You were thinking of the future, wanting that romantic religion-instilled notion of purity before marriage, despite his insistence that it'd be alright to slip up and fool around, because he wanted to marry you anyway.

He wasn't good for you. And when you didn't give him enough, he found it elsewhere. I know it still hurts to think about, but it was for the best. You weren't the one that cheated. You did nothing wrong.

Then came the divorce. It was messy, unexpected, unfair; your stepfather, one of the men you were supposed to be able to trust the most, turned on you: he shattered a fifteen year relationship that had been the cornerstone of your life up to that point. It was a devastating blow, and it began to shift your ability to rely on those around you, especially given the tumultuous relationship your biological parents had pulled you through years before. It got harder when he proceeded to never speak to you again after that point, though he still loved your brother and sister just as much-- if not more-- than before the divorce.

You felt so heartbroken. You still are.

You had to move home. It wasn't ideal, commuting every day for classes you couldn't focus on, trying to work on weekends, trying to keep your head above water. You were responsible for so many things a teenager shouldn't be. You were a counselor, a parent, a go-getter. You tried to be the rock for others that you needed yourself, and it wore you down.

That's where I started to lose you.

There were still moments here and there, when you would breach the surface and see the sky. You tried to imagine your life as it was in a book, in one of the many books you'd read. You treated those books like how-to guides, thinking that if you romanticized everything enough, it would all work out picture-perfect in the end.

Sure, you moved houses a few times, but you liked to imagine the ghosts of the lives that lived there before you, pretending that-- when you left-- you'd leave behind your own for someone else to imagine.

You failed a class for the first time in your life, but you saw it as an opportunity for motivation, to rise and succeed in everything else after having a taste of defeat.

You kept in touch with your friends, planning trips and hang-outs that checked all the boxes for great memories and picturesque moments that you could reminisce on in your older years.

You tried online dating, relying on your writing to entrance someone enough to fall in love with you.

But then moving boxes became heavy, and ghosts took too much energy to imagine.

Classes lost their interest and appeal, and you found yourself struggling to complete simple projects or attend classes.

Your friends began to move on with their lives, and you started to fall behind, struggling to balance school and work, and losing your motivation to do anything social.

Online dating led to a catfish that broke your heart in several pieces, shattering the illusion of a man that loved you, and further deepening your inability to trust others with something as precious as your love and your time. You began to see and understand how cruel people could be to you, and it beat you further back into your corner.

You were never confrontational; you'd learned long before that you couldn't win arguments with the people in your life, starting young, listening to your parents scream at one another. You held so much guilt for something you couldn't control, and people learned to use that against you. You became an appeaser, a people-pleaser.

All you wanted was for people to be happy and for them to love you. You learned to be a mediator, you learned to lie to avoid arguments. You did what you could to survive emotionally, thinking that if people loved you enough then they would never have to argue with you, or about you, or involve you in arguments with others.

You reached a low point. It had been a slow but steady decline beforehand, one you didn't recognize but others did.

You became "too sad" for your friends; some offered their support but you turned it away, afraid that you would be a burden that they would eventually come to despise. Some did. They began to drift away when you reached out, some pointing out how you had changed, and how they didn't like it.

You began to lose hope in finding love. You had seen three marriages collapse in two decades, had already had a few tastes of bitter disappointment in your own search, and you didn't know if you could ever fully trust someone to stay... and that distrust might be the very thing to drive them off, anyway.

You were depressed. Clinically, after an ER visit that did more harm than good and the crushing guilt of being told you did not appreciate the life you had. You had food, and shelter, and hot water: what was there to be depressed over? All you had to do was stop being sad, and when you couldn't you felt like even more of a failure. The pills you were prescribed helped, but not enough.

You began to retreat completely. You lost your friends, all of them. You didn't want to bother anyone with your slow descent into oblivion, convinced you would either bring those around you down with them or they would despise you for always being so needy.

You moved out. A big move, and one you weren't convinced you were ready for. You were afraid of being alone with yourself, certain that you would spiral further. Some days you did. But you kept on.

You graduated college, barely skimming by. It should've been an accomplishment you celebrated, but deep down you still felt the disappointment of those around you. An English degree wouldn't pay the bills, and your former dreams of being a novelist had all but dissipated with your motivation. You were on autopilot, going through the motions, feeling like all you were doing was acting out your part until the curtain closed, some background ensemble character in the story of your own life.

You woke up, you took your dog out. You went to work. You came home. You made yourself a dinner and sat in the quiet, waiting for the dark to come so you could go to bed. Time passed in a blur, wearing down what little bit of you was left until there was nothing.

That's where I lost you. That is where you finally died and this new person emerged... The person I am.

I wish that weren't the case. I wish you were still here, because you cannot imagine how much I miss you. I scroll through old videos and pictures of you and my heart breaks. I don't have the same smile as you. I don't have the sparkle to my eye that you did, or the same outrageous laugh, or the unwavering energy that categorized you as the 'funny friend'.

We are two different people, and as much as I have tried to find you, revive you, lure you back with projects and things we used to enjoy, books, paints, art projects, music... You're gone. You are a ghost just as much as I am, lingering faintly in the corners of memories and at the edges of everyone's eyes, a point of concern and worry for those around us, seen as a ticking time bomb.

I just want you to come back. I want to feel the way you did, before things started collapsing on us. I want our friends back. I want our family back. I want the relationships with my brother and sisters back. I want to be okay. I want to smile like you did. I want to laugh like you did. I want the future you had, I want the way we made people proud, I want the love you fought so hard for. I want to be you so badly it hurts.

You had joy, but you took it with you when you died and I can only catch fleeting glimpses now and then. I have to fight to hold onto them for a few days at most, a few minutes at least. It's exhausting. You were so much better at this than I ever will be. I am so sorry that I let you die, I am so sorry that I did not protect you from what we became. I should have done better. I should have fought for you more. I should have told you that the things that broke you weren't your fault, and then maybe you'd still be here.

But I didn't, and now I don't know if I'll ever get you back. I'll keep trying, and maybe one day you'll appear and we'll be fine. Maybe you can't. Maybe you're gone forever, and this is just who we are now, without personality or desire or motivation. I don't know.

But I miss you so badly, and I am so lonely without you.

Please come home. And please write back.

Yours,

You.