To the Person Behind the Mirror,

It’s been a while.  I don’t know if I should apologize for not keeping in touch.  Or for denying that you exist.  I don’t know what to feel.

The last time I wrote to you, I felt alone.  Helpless.  I was certain there was no one who needed me or cared about me or noticed me.  Not even you.

For a while, after I stopped writing, life was painful.  I didn’t write because it felt pointless.  But then things got a little better and I didn’t write because I thought I was okay and I didn’t need anyone.

Sometimes I think I have nothing to say.  I’m not special, I’m not interesting, there’s nothing to tell.

But today I’m going to write anyway.

I’ve been working a lot.  Work helps.  It’s hard and it drains me till there’s nothing left but at least when I’m working I feel like I’m putting my life to some kind of use.

I remember what K.F. said to me in 2nd grade on the playground.  She called me a “waste of precious human flesh”.  It’s not her fault, she was just a kid and I was a weird outsider who could never seem to fit in.  I’m sure I was doing something annoying.  But that idea stuck with me all these years.  I remember thinking “I am?” and I believed her completely.

I still hear those words in my head sometimes but it’s not her voice anymore, it’s mine.

I’ll try to write again.

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