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.