Dearest Genny,
Why I choose moments like this to write to you is a mystery to me. I write because I must; I am compelled to write or die. If I do not find a release for my emotions, I will implode and fall to pieces on the floor. I wish I knew God. I hear He's the one to talk to when you feel like you're going to die of heart sickness.
Where do these feelings of utter despair come from? Why can't I let go, disengage the wheels of depression, which ceaselessly circulate painful thoughts through my head, like some horrific merry-go-round of madness?
OK, get a grip. Breathe. Count. It's OK.
No, it's not. Not OK. Nothing's OK. Everything hurts. It hurts to sit here. It hurts to think. It hurts to try to plan alleviation of my suffering because all it involves is the same old worn out remedies that don't work.
Who the fuck am I? Where will I be in ten years? Will I always be this godforsaken depressed?
My rational mind, usually present to offer reason and good hope, has seemingly gone to sleep or left the room. Anyway, I'm in here with a big tangled ball of confused emotions and no one to tell me, "It will pass." God, I feel like I'm on an all night acid trip. No control. Well, some, but I'm just hanging on.
So, why do I want to bum you out with all this? Cause you're my friend, and I need you. I hope I don't alienate you with what I'm about to lay on you. Please don't run and hide in the nearest bushes.
I am suffering from a scriptural malady: "Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but desire fulfilled is a tree of life." I keep hoping for the elusive "happy relationship" and fooling myself.
In the past few days, since sleeping over at your house and your telling me that you love me, confiding in me that you think you are pregnant with Matt's child and, in general, spending more time with you than usual, I have come to a very painful conclusion: I am in damn-fool, head over heels, muddle headed, puppy dog love with you.
I never got over you. I can see more things to like about you than I did before. Spending a few months getting to know you as a friend only made me feel even more deeply for you. And for a while I thought I was maturely accepting my status. I had to balance my supreme love of having you around with my fear of succumbing to my obsessional nature.
I never want to lose your friendship. It means too much to me. But, oh, Genny, the struggle!
When I saw your ad in the personals, I wanted to cry. How can you? How can you be looking for friends? It sounds so deceptive. I guess I just feel rejected because you told me, "I'm not the one" and "I can't date you." Oh, Genny, why not? Am I really that smothering?
All I want is a little of what I've been without all my life. A little affection, warmth, compassion. I swear I'd never put you through any trips. I just want someone to be in love with. Someone I like, feel comfortable with, who excites me, makes me feel wonderful -- to be specific: you.
How does someone wind up with a girl like you? What are you looking for? Is there no possibility for a relationship between us?
I remember a night, not too long ago, when you told me some very naughty things, and I did not take you up on it at the time. Biggest mistake of my life. When the moment is there, it is like magic. But like most magic, the spell wears, off and I am left with a pumpkin.
Cinderella spent too long dancing. She should have left the ball early and rode off into the night with her prince while they still had the carriage. Would have saved the prince a lot of door knocking. And trying to fit a lot of smelly women's feet into a slipper that could only be filled by one beautiful Princess.
Oh, well. What this has to do with my life or yours is suspect. My analogies always have loose ends.
But Genny, you mythical Goddess, I've never stopped regretting that we never made love. I reckon I'd probably die contented if we ever did. I do love you so much, in so many ways, it's hard to conceive.
I was not kidding when I said I'd marry you in an instant and raise your child as if it were mine. God, Genny, if you are the prize, I don't care what Herculean feats I would have to perform, it would be worth it.
If, on the other hand, I had to sit back and watch you find happiness with another, I'd still not want to lose you. But I'd have to be pretty stoic about it. I'm not a hard person to be friends with, just freaking impossible is all.
I mean, I don't ask much, just that you spend the rest of your life with me. Be my love, we'll be partners. We'll live for today, plan for tomorrow and love every minute. That's about it.
Tell me please that I'm wrong or that I'm right, but please, put me out of my misery. I'll wait for you. Think it over. I'm always here for you. I'll always be a friend, maybe not a great one (I'm kind of moody).
Well, I feel a little bit better, but only because writing takes up energy I'd have been spending freaking out, and now I'm tired. You must be, too. My letters are draining. If I don't send you this, it's cause I've gone past the crisis stage and am dealing with it on my own. If I do, then I really am crazy.
No comments:
Post a Comment
I've changed my comments settings to allow for anyone to comment. All comments are welcome, even spineless potshots from anonymous posters. Please, by all means, give me the tongue lashing I so richly deserve. I promise not to hunt you down and melt your keyboard with my plasma cannon. I won't, however, promise not to pout and make that face you can't stand.