The summer of 2014

Hi,

It’s been a while.

I wrote this letter to you. I gave you all I knew and I kept you in my mind. I miss you every day, nothing is ever the same. Honestly, I have felt nothing like it. Now that you’re gone nothing has been the same. I feel empty.

I’m tired. I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while now. I just wanted to tell you that I can’t do it anymore. I can’t live anymore. I’m done fighting. I can’t I’m done. I can’t put up with this. I can't handle feeling like this anymore.

I just got home from the hospital, a mental hospital. I’m seeing Dr. Fonseca again. She has me on a bunch of prescriptions, more than usual. And it’s not your fault, not entirely. Andrew also left. He left saying we probably won’t see each other again. I haven’t seen him or talked to him since. These two together have really fucked up my mind. I miss you. I miss him.

Why do people stay longer in my head then they do in my life?

You know how I feel. You understand me the most and you still left knowing what will happen to me if you did. It’s like it’s fine. Whenever you were sad I would always ask and I worry. But when I’m sad, you don’t. You don’t worry. Nothing’s wrong. I’m sorry things have to end up this way. I've lost myself. I'm becoming someone who I don't recognize. Do you know how dead inside I am?

I think I know what you meant when you said you were a morning glory; more like mourning glory. My blue flower. I think I just need to be by my side. I’m just so fucking empty, so fucking tired. I’m staring at myself in the mirror again, disgusted. The fresh vertical scars on my wrists are comforting. I’m intoxicated.

I’m also fucked up. I’m too fucked up and you chose right. I don’t deserve you. I’m not right for you, so I get it. If I’m not hurting myself, I’m hurting someone around it. It’s either Grace, or Andrew, or Virginia or it was you. How does a person survive this? How does a person survive the life I lived, the torture I’ve endured?

I remember it so clearly.

It’s like the first time I saw a horror film and it scared me to death. Chucky, that’s what it was. I remember all the emotions, the scent and the sounds of that day. It’s how I’m able to remember this so vividly, it plays just like a movie.

My father.

When I was little I remember him being so kind, so loving and supportive. He was patient with my mother, he let her sort her issues out and never got mad at her. He truly loved her. I remember the days we would play pretend that we were monsters rampaging a city made out of legos. He taught me to be gentle, to be kind and to love others.

When Mom died, he wasn’t Dad anymore. I don’t know who he was, but I lost my father when my mom died. My father slowly had evolved into an alcoholic with no job and without a will to carry on. He left us to fend for ourselves when we were 12.

It was another any other night. Andrew was gone, trying to find something to appease his hunger for danger. I was in my room watching The Simpsons. It was the episode where Homer becomes Mr. Plow. I used to love this episode; but not anymore. I was 14.

He called me over to his room and I ignorantly followed. He bitched about how Mom’s brother, my uncle was suing him over the rights to the inheritance Mom left us. I said, that it sucked. He didn’t like that.

My father raised his fist for the first time I’ve ever seen. He punched me right in cheek and it stung enough where my whole face became numb. As I fell over, I saw the anger in his eyes. He was too drunk. I was his outlet. He said, “You look just like your mother,” when he got on top me. I struggled, and struggled, and struggled but I wasn’t strong enough. I knew what was happening and I couldn’t stop it. I wasn’t strong enough.

I became numb. I couldn’t feel anything except dead, like a puppet, a corpse, a mannequin. I’ve never stared at the door so painfully hoping, just hoping that Andrew would come in and stop this. I was robbed, I was killed.

This was not a one-time occurrence.

I remember it all, but this was the first. This was what I would dream about in the hospital.

Now I’m back in the real world, ready to go to community college in Seattle. At least this is what everyone thinks; Virginia, Grace, and Fonseca. I’m not even sure if I’m ready. I haven’t really been in the right state of mind as of late. You can tell because I just shared something with you that maybe I shouldn’t have. I mean, you know. I told you, but I never told you told you. Now I did tell you and it was too much information.

Anyways, how are you?

Do you remember when I found Grace’s bag of coke? Remember when I told you how Andrew and I talked to her? Remember when she said she would stay away from it? Well, I found another bag. This time I did more. This time I didn’t stop. I don’t think Grace noticed. I don’t think I care anymore. If Virginia kicked Andrew out for something that Grace has forgiven him, I wonder what she would do the same for me. I’ve been with her longer than him, she sees me as a daughter. I see her as mother and I’m constantly breaking her trust now.

Andrew said that I don’t need him anymore. He was wrong. I don’t have anything to hold on to now. I can’t be strong anymore. I guess I had that with you as well but you’re not here anymore either. I tried to save you when you didn’t need it but you returned the favor by breaking me.

I don’t hate you. Maybe I do. Maybe I’m writing all this so I can make you feel bad that my life is this miserable right now. Or maybe I just miss you so much that I need to write this to make myself feel better. I want to tell you so many fucking things. I want to be able to call you and hear your voice. I like to walk past your church a lot hoping that I would find you out there. You’re never there. I always hope but it’s never there. You’re never there. Hope isn’t there.

That’s why I’m so fucked up right now. I’m on all so many pills along with the coke. It’s so hard and easy to fall asleep. I don’t get it. I lie in bed completely tired and drowsy but I’m never able to sleep until hours pass by. Aren’t you happy for me? Is this what you wanted?

Anyways, I still haven’t found Andrew. The only thing we have gotten from his is a letter saying he’s fine and shouldn’t worry. That’s the only reason why Virginia hasn’t reported him missing. She says she trusts his judgment, that she misses him and regrets what she did. We all miss him but Virginia trusts that he did this on his own will. I’ve searched all over. There are rumors that he’s in Colorado, others say he’s in Chicago and others say they have seen him in New York City. If he’s not in the states anymore, what would the point be? What’s the point of anything?

As I’m writing this I realize there’s no structure. I don’t have structure.

Fuck.

I hate you.

I miss you.

Where are you?

I’m here.

I want to talk about my mom some more but I can’t write it down. It has to be in person. I have to tell somebody.

I love you, come back, Freyja.

-

I crumple up this piece of paper and throw it on the ground. I don’t need it. I’m not even sure why I wrote it.

I have to move on no matter how hard it gets. This is why I’m able to walk towards the building. Today I start college and there’s no looking back. Even when I feel a presence behind me, I still move forward. Always forward.

I begin anew.