• Man-Stealer

    by  • August 31, 2014 • 0 Comments

    Well, I’m in a bit of a pickle, aren’t I? What kind of relationship starts off with two people saying, “Whatever you do, don’t tell so-and-so?” Not the healthy kind, I’ll tell you that much. I knew the fact that we always like the same kind of guys would be a problem sooner or later. I feel guilty, like I’m getting a reputation as a man-stealer, even though he never belonged to you. But you met him first, kissed him first, so I guess you had first dibs, even though he told me in as many words that he couldn’t reciprocate your feelings. You never let on to how you’re feeling. If he hadn’t told me, I would have never known that you liked him at all. You never share, never open up, you’re never vulnerable. Best friend, I want so much for you to be happy. Your anger at the world, while justified, is one of the reasons why he was in my bed last night instead of yours.

    He sees people, the way they truly are. He notices everything and he told me that I was kind. I don’t feel kind. I feel sneaky and selfish. I feel like a bad friend. I feel like I’ve been down this path before. It all seems eerily familiar. Of course, you’re a different person than the last person I “stole” from. You won’t curse me out in public like they did. When you find out, you’ll just slip away, stop answering my calls, never tell me another secret, never ask me for my help again, and I will probably deserve it.


    by  • August 31, 2014 • 0 Comments

    It was happy. Happier than expected. And sad. And I missed you. Unfortunately.

    it’s been months

    by  • August 31, 2014 • 0 Comments

    Since i’ve wrote anything. Even with so much to say or ask I never felt like writing. If…. a big if… you’re or if you ever were reading these letters… my feelings haven’t changed. I think about you everyday. Its still just as hard today as it was 2 years ago. TAR

    I miss you

    by  • August 31, 2014 • 0 Comments

    Working night shifts gives me way too much time to my own thoughts. Because of this, I’ve began to think of you again.
    Honestly, you’ve probably forgotten me by now, which makes sense. It was something in like, middle school. I don’t even know why I still remember you, let alone find my mind wandering to thoughts of you. But, well, it happens and I have time so I figured this would be a good time to voice some stuff, even if I’m the only one who’ll ever read it.
    I thought you were dead; I still do a bit in the back of my mind. Your facebook page, along with those of the rest of your family, is gone. I haven’t heard from you in two years, and then I try your phone and never get a response. I really just want to know that you’re okay.
    It’s not even that I still have feelings for you (at least, none that are romantic) but I feel something more than platonic towards you, and I just have such an urge to know someone who was this huge person in my life for so long is still around and okay.
    Remember how things used to be? We were so crazy about each other in our underdeveloped, immature way. Everything was online and I don’t know how we were happy with it, but we were. Then the first couple times I could hear your voice (which sounded rather young, I must add.) I was so happy. Then seeing your face the first time was an experience in its own. I wish Lulilab didn’t shut down. Not even a week before it did I found myself looking through our old messages back and forth, I found the sad times but also the great ones. We really thought things would last.
    Well, they obviously didn’t, they couldn’t. But I still feel so happy to have known you, even for the short time we did. I do regret lying to you the last time we were able to speak. I told you that I was happy and with a new boyfriend, I didn’t tell you he was hurting me and taking advantage of me. I didn’t tell you how sad and desperate I felt, or how shocked and happy I was to talk to you. I didn’t mention the flare up of happiness seeing your message and texting you and just having contact.
    I didn’t because I was scared. Even if I did, what makes me think you could’ve helped? All you could have done was told me not to stay with that, tell me that it would get worse. I guess I wanted you to see it, even though I gave you only good reports. I stopped talking to you because he made me stop. I didn’t want to, and maybe if I didn’t stop, if I told you the way things were going I’d still be able to talk to you now.
    It’s really hard to stop dwelling in the past knowing you may or may not be out there somewhere. I used to have these dreams that I’d see you again when I left home, that somehow fate would have pulled our strings together again. Maybe I’d meet you in college or at a job, or just out and about one day. Obviously, I see now that those things are basically impossible, but the thought sort of helped me keep going when things were rough.
    When I was going through the pain of being with him I thought about you a lot. As I mentioned above, I still kind of thought of you as a white knight that could’ve saved me, even though it was ridiculous. Even when I didn’t think of that, I just thought of you being here as a friend, as someone to talk to. It hurt even more knowing you were just a text away, but that I couldn’t ever initiate any conversation due to him checking my phone and making sure I had no contact with you or anyone similar (any exes or people I was overly close to at some point that weren’t female). I regret not just texting you, and keeping up some nice daily conversations and just having you there.
    I also know that all these feelings might be through nostalgia goggles, but I don’t care. I’d rather hold on to those old feelings than let them disappear, than let a connection disappear, even if it makes me write a ~2 page letter to you that you’ll never read at 4:30 on a Sunday morning.
    You’d like my current boyfriend, *****. He’s the sweetest, nicest person. I really think things will last with him. He knows a little about you, mostly just about the fact that you existed, that I have somewhat of an emotional attachment, and that I assume you’re dead. He also knows I probably write to you. He mostly supports it because he knows it’s probably good for my mental state to get stuff like this out, and that my PTSD treatment sort of makes me dwell on the past a bit.
    I also still have the slight hope that by writing this I either can move past you or that it will trigger fate in the right way to where we’ll meet again. It sounds stupid, but I did something like this before the last time you contacted me, so I guess it’s okay to at least have hope.
    Anyway, I hope deeply that our paths do cross again in one way or another, or at least that out of the blue you decide to look me up and just, see how things are I guess. I hope all is well for you, and I hope that you’re happy. I’ll probably add onto this eventually.

    With love,

    To Amanda

    by  • August 31, 2014 • 1 Comment

    Dear Amanda,
    I slept with your boyfriend. And I did it on purpose. I knew exactly what my plan was.
    No, this isn’t an apology to you. I don’t feel bad, and I don’t regret it. I don’t even know if you use this site. or maybe one of your friends does. Either way,
    I hope you read this.
    and if you’re reading and wondering if it could possibly be you Amanda, it is you. and you know exactly who I am. and who your boyfriend is.

    my bad

    still running…

    by  • August 31, 2014 • 0 Comments

    I need to talk (write) about this, but I don’t want to. But if I keep it inside, it just rots me away. I’m having a hard time continuing here, I’m trying to avoid this from coming out poorly.

    Yes, I know you were hurt when we split up. I was extremely hurt also. I cried my self to sleep for months. I still cry about it. Whatdoyaknow? crying now.

    What was i supposed to do? It seemed that you didn’t love me anymore. You moved into a different room, you wouldn’t spend any time with me, you didn’t want to do anything for Christmas, you even stopped saying good night to me.

    And your son hated me. He was stealing from me and you wouldn’t believe me.

    And you left loaded weapons in the hands of drunk teenagers for months.

    The house was hateful, loveless and dangerous. I feared for my life.

    What else was I supposed to do?


    by  • August 31, 2014 • 0 Comments

    7. More. Days.

    This is (hopefully) the last time we have to do this anymore!

    The last 2 months have been the worst for me, if you couldn’t already tell (though maybe that’s the blessing in disguise with the distance).
    After getting you for a month, traveling, daily interactions, the little fights, the sweet moments. It kills me to be apart from you for so long. A while ago, you said that I was your best friend; and I couldn’t quite comprehend that. I thought it was weird, I’ve never thought of someone I love like that as a best friend. And it wasn’t until recently that I fully understand that-there’s no one I would rather be with. For anything. Like I can do and go anywhere with you, and it’s always a new experience. Even just the nights traxxing it down to the bars, just the two of us, I loved that. Remember how much shit we stole from the bars?

    PC, Wyoming, Vegas, P-Town…watching films on Aliens, and discovering the secret door in my apartment.

    No matter what it is, you drag it out of me. Somehow, (knock on wood), the anxiety hasn’t bothered you. But, again, you haven’t seen the extend of which it really does affect my life. We’ve done longer than this before, hell, 2 months is a cinch. But, after having a taste of what our life will be like, I can’t go back. It’s sunken me into a deep depression, missing you, and the anxious wheel in my head doesn’t want me to think about any of the times we’ve had, but rather, worry about things that more than likely are not real. I took for granted the things we do have, the love we have.

    This next trip is going to be an adventure for sure. As often as we joked about busing it places around the states, here I go to hop on the Greyhound to Vegas, and fly out to you. Ah well.

    I’ve been going to counseling. I never told you because I was embarrassed. Ashamed. I’d sunk as low to that. Even more so, my thoughts were so out of control, I could feel my sanity start to slip even further and further out of my grip, until I finally became medicated. I know your feelings about medication, and the stigmas attached to it. I hate that I need it, I truly do. But you did not see the anguish I battled every single day. The nightmares. I stopped eating. I withdrew from everything and everyone. The constant barrage of manic thoughts that fueled the mania/anxiety and spiraled me into an even worse depression.

    Shit kind of hit the fan. I should have done this a long time ago, it probably would have been better to have had me stable for the whole duration of our relationship, and not just the first 12 months.

    Things are starting to look brighter. My thoughts are manageable. My emotions are under control. Despite being sick (thanks, mom) I’ve felt more human than I have in a long time. We didn’t talk much today, and normally, that would have freaked me out. I didn’t even notice. I was happy to hear from you. The only things that got to me today was how much I miss you. How happy I am that this wait is almost over. Listening to our songs, and thinking back to 1 year ago when we started our adventure.

    How much I fucking love you, C.

    How much I want you to know, that through all this turmoil and sadness, you are my light that keeps me going.

    We make a good team.

    God I miss you.

    I can’t wait to see you. 1 week until I am running into your arms at the airport.

    I love you.


    by  • August 31, 2014 • 0 Comments

    Inside your head