A Letter To A Stranger

A Letter To A Stranger

This is a letter to a stranger I wrote last year. This was a writing prompt given to me by the counselor I was seeing. Maybe you too could write your own letter. You might learn something about yourself that you didn’t know.

I may not know you, and you may not know me, but I’m sure by the end of this letter you will obtain a greater understanding of who I am.  Perhaps you will find that though we are perfect strangers, there is some common ground which we stand upon. The complex task of describing who I am to you seems quite impossible to me as I write this.  I will nevertheless try to approach this letter from a place of honesty and sincerity, even when it hurts to do so.

I find myself stuck in the in-between, not quite old enough to be considered wise, nor young enough for foolish mistakes to be excused.  Just that awkward place known as the middle.  Though if I am being honest, I believe I’ve had a vast amount of life experiences both good and bad.  I have found myself at the bottom of a hole more times than I’d like to admit. So, how did I end up there, to begin with? Well, that’s what I hope to explain to you.

Early in life, I could sense that I wasn’t like most kids, I was overly fearful and shy, an absolute introvert. The perfect unmolded piece of clay for the world in all of its harshness to shape into a representation, somewhat of a reflection of itself.  And I was just that. Many times I was left in shattered pieces on the ground, struggling to put myself back together. Fully aware each time I was only becoming more fragile. So many times I remember thinking to myself “This time I won’t be able to be put back together”, but somehow, someway I would. Though with each self-surgery I lost a piece, a fragment of myself.  Leaving behind an empty space with nothing to fill it. 

There were so many times I can recall the heavy, sinking, smothering feeling of hopelessness expanding all around me, consuming me with each passing day.  I wasn’t sure if I could continue onward, and if I could, did I really even want to? I don’t think there are many things in life worse than feeling like you don’t belong, like a bird without a song. I was constantly seeking to find my place, somewhere I could exist in the background, never to step into the foreground. 

Many vicious cycles of bad friends and bad habits, all bringing forth their own set of unfortunate events.  I met the devil in a person disguised as a man, short-tempered, and violent. He only knew how to speak with his hands. White knuckles, black pupils, an evil I couldn’t understand. No one prepares you for that, not your parents, or school, nor the books you read or the after-school specials on tv. Suddenly I found myself tossed into a violent whirlwind of chaos, with nothing to hold on to.  So, for a while I got stuck there, unable to free myself.  Many times not even attempting to do anything about it at all. 

I never stood a chance in retrospect. Self-mutilation and self-deprivation. If I could turn the music up just a little louder, maybe it would drown out the racing thoughts inside my mind. But there were also good times. We can’t forget the good times. Spontaneous road trips, warm October nights, laughing until I cried. Weekend punk rock shows, parking lot socialite, after-parties chasing the sunrise. Tuition money spent on tattoos, smoked out in parked cars, our reputations precede us, we always took it too far. 

I met so many types of people along the way, each with their own sad story to describe. My empathy betrayed me as their stories replayed in my mind. Stacks of journals around my bed, letting the words flow onto pages as I bled. I would never let anyone see the real me, which was fine because I had so many themes. But I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t exhausting, I think I lost who I was amongst all the talking. Hospital beds, medications I was fed, no one ever read between the lines of the things that were said. 

So eventually I got tired, and I just wanted to sleep. But the world kept tugging and pulling at me. I wanted to be left alone to drown in my suffering, so I built up a fortress to keep everyone away from me.  Why fight against something you can’t see, I surrendered myself and forfeited any chance at victory. Chasing after the things that might stop the cycle of spinning thoughts before they catch back up to me. I guess looking back I was always running. 

I drove myself into the ground; I was a chemical prisoner with no hope to be found. Sick and shaking on the bathroom floor. Cold sweats and withdrawal, I don’t think I’ve ever been more terrified. I believed in the sweet relief of death, a poetic tragedy in my life movie, death by overdosing. Broken necks and totaled cars. The only true friend I ever had locked behind bars. The shame and guilt were almost too much to bear, I would cry and fall apart but there’s no one here. Disconnected and detached, I couldn’t fix myself this time. And that is a humbling realization that I can’t quite describe. 

And just as the end for me was quickly approaching in all of its calamity, a hand reached out to grab me. And picked me up from the ground where I was left and laid, took on all of my iniquities, my deficiencies, and inabilities, and assured me it would be okay. He revived me and restored me; I was a new creation, a reflection of his glory. So I read about everything he ever said, and I learned how I was never really alone, he was with me through those darkest of times; he was and still is the reason I fight. I know I’m not perfect but you see, that’s where he shines. He’s the light in the darkness, he is the reason I am alive. 

Sincerely,

” A Simply Complicated Life”