Dear...
Your Unsent Letters...Sent
Friday, April 27, 2007
Landlord
Please don’t raise my rent
Please don’t raise my rent
Please don’t raise my rent
Oh
And please don’t sell the house, because I don’t want to move again!
Sincerely,
Your Broke Tenant
Please don’t raise my rent
Please don’t raise my rent
Oh
And please don’t sell the house, because I don’t want to move again!
Sincerely,
Your Broke Tenant
Player
You started off with a smile and a friendly conversation. “I like to meet people all over the country,“ you said. “I like to have lots of friends,” you said.
Emails were exchanged and then you got her phone number and started calling. Everything was friendly, on the up and up. Your story emerges about the ten year relationship you had that ended with a painful death from cancer. You talk about how you miss your girl and how lonely you are. You play the sympathy card better than anyone she has met before.
She believes you, takes you at face value, just a good friend. All the while, you are playing a game with her emotions to get what you want. And you might have succeeded had it been anyone else. She figured out what you are, a player, using the memory of a dead girlfriend to get other women you want. No thought to the consequences for them. The potential to destroy relationships as wonderful as yours was with the dead girlfriend. You don’t care. You just go for what you want.
And she called you on it.
This made you mad. So you call her unexpectedly late at night and yell. Telling her what a terrible person she is. All because you didn’t get what you want. She called me in tears at 130am. “I’m not a bad person, am I?” She hung up on you and broke down afterwards. You didn’t get what you want but you still left damage in your wake. Her belief in herself was bruised. Her belief in the goodness of others was battered.
I just wanted you to know she’s not the only one on to you Player. Grow up and be a true person, not some friendly mask hiding an insecure, immature person. We know your games and will pass the word along.
You will not get what you want be devious means from anyone we know.
Angered Partner
Emails were exchanged and then you got her phone number and started calling. Everything was friendly, on the up and up. Your story emerges about the ten year relationship you had that ended with a painful death from cancer. You talk about how you miss your girl and how lonely you are. You play the sympathy card better than anyone she has met before.
She believes you, takes you at face value, just a good friend. All the while, you are playing a game with her emotions to get what you want. And you might have succeeded had it been anyone else. She figured out what you are, a player, using the memory of a dead girlfriend to get other women you want. No thought to the consequences for them. The potential to destroy relationships as wonderful as yours was with the dead girlfriend. You don’t care. You just go for what you want.
And she called you on it.
This made you mad. So you call her unexpectedly late at night and yell. Telling her what a terrible person she is. All because you didn’t get what you want. She called me in tears at 130am. “I’m not a bad person, am I?” She hung up on you and broke down afterwards. You didn’t get what you want but you still left damage in your wake. Her belief in herself was bruised. Her belief in the goodness of others was battered.
I just wanted you to know she’s not the only one on to you Player. Grow up and be a true person, not some friendly mask hiding an insecure, immature person. We know your games and will pass the word along.
You will not get what you want be devious means from anyone we know.
Angered Partner
I.R.S.
We need more deductions, Like credit card interest. People used to be able to take that as a deduction. It would certainly help to have that back.
Or maybe deductions for renters. Homeowners get certain mortgage deductions, don’t they? Not all of us can afford to buy a house. Partial rent deduction sounds like a nice balance.
Or a flat tax. If we all paid 25% regardless of income, that would be fair. Put a waiver on it for anyone making under, say, $20,000, and make it equitable for everyone else.
Or even better would be a national sales tax instead of income tax. At least with that we’d have some control over how much money was going out of our pockets.
We’re choking on taxes. We need help. It sucks that I can’t accept a new job because it would put me just into the next tax bracket, and I’d actually bring home less money.
There’s got to be a way for the government to get the money it needs to be able to run without it hurting citizens so much.
--Hurting
Or maybe deductions for renters. Homeowners get certain mortgage deductions, don’t they? Not all of us can afford to buy a house. Partial rent deduction sounds like a nice balance.
Or a flat tax. If we all paid 25% regardless of income, that would be fair. Put a waiver on it for anyone making under, say, $20,000, and make it equitable for everyone else.
Or even better would be a national sales tax instead of income tax. At least with that we’d have some control over how much money was going out of our pockets.
We’re choking on taxes. We need help. It sucks that I can’t accept a new job because it would put me just into the next tax bracket, and I’d actually bring home less money.
There’s got to be a way for the government to get the money it needs to be able to run without it hurting citizens so much.
--Hurting
Couple In Chili's
Kudos. You brought your child in to eat today. He is obviously very young, I was thinking maybe 3 or 4 years old, and not used to eating in a “real” restaurant. But that’s ok because you brought him at a time when there are few other diners, and you corrected him every time he got too loud or too squirmy. When he cried, you picked him up and removed him to outside until he got the message.
Too many parents take their really young kids out during the lunch rush or dinner rush and let the cry loudly, let them yell, and let them run around. You know your kid’s limits and you’re teaching him to be a good diner. I appreciate that. A few more late lunches/early dinner and he’ll know how to behave in a restaurant.
I apologize for that other couple, the people who were clear across the dining room. They were the ones who left in a giant “children don’t belong here” huff. They didn’t stop to appreciate the lessons you were teaching your child. Maybe no one taught them early on.
Anyway, as someone who has worked in restaurants for over 5 years, I appreciate what you were doing. Your kid is welcome at my tables anytime.
Too many parents take their really young kids out during the lunch rush or dinner rush and let the cry loudly, let them yell, and let them run around. You know your kid’s limits and you’re teaching him to be a good diner. I appreciate that. A few more late lunches/early dinner and he’ll know how to behave in a restaurant.
I apologize for that other couple, the people who were clear across the dining room. They were the ones who left in a giant “children don’t belong here” huff. They didn’t stop to appreciate the lessons you were teaching your child. Maybe no one taught them early on.
Anyway, as someone who has worked in restaurants for over 5 years, I appreciate what you were doing. Your kid is welcome at my tables anytime.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
You, Who Has Gone On...
For 20 years
My entire adult life
Existence
All I wanted
Was for Real Life
To exact vengeance
On you
Lose your house
Lose your car
Lose your job
Lose your life
Suffer
Feel all the pain
That would be
Only a fraction
Of what you caused
I admit
I often wished
You would hurry up
And die already
My wishes
As horrible
As your actions
But now you’re gone
In one blink
Of one eye
Poof
Dead
Before you even
Hit the floor
The relief
I always expected
The joy
The smugness that
I survived and
You did not
It’s not there
Instead, emptiness
Sadness
An aching
For what should have been
But never was
For a childhood
Of smiles
Instead
Of fear
Years wasted
Hating
When I could have
Been living
I thought
I would soar
Instead, emptiness
Empty
Empty
Empty
Maybe God
Will forgive you
Where I could not
And maybe God
Will fill that
Emptiness
Because I
Don’t know how.
~~~~Hollow~~~~
My entire adult life
Existence
All I wanted
Was for Real Life
To exact vengeance
On you
Lose your house
Lose your car
Lose your job
Lose your life
Suffer
Feel all the pain
That would be
Only a fraction
Of what you caused
I admit
I often wished
You would hurry up
And die already
My wishes
As horrible
As your actions
But now you’re gone
In one blink
Of one eye
Poof
Dead
Before you even
Hit the floor
The relief
I always expected
The joy
The smugness that
I survived and
You did not
It’s not there
Instead, emptiness
Sadness
An aching
For what should have been
But never was
For a childhood
Of smiles
Instead
Of fear
Years wasted
Hating
When I could have
Been living
I thought
I would soar
Instead, emptiness
Empty
Empty
Empty
Maybe God
Will forgive you
Where I could not
And maybe God
Will fill that
Emptiness
Because I
Don’t know how.
~~~~Hollow~~~~
Co-Workers,
Yeah, that was me.
I apologize; I let you think it was the client who had just left. The timing was simply good; he went into the restroom just before I did, and it was easy to shift the blame for some that noxious.
I really am sorry.
That was REALLY bad, and even my eyes were watering.
Really, really really sorry.
--The Fumigator in Cubicle 3
I apologize; I let you think it was the client who had just left. The timing was simply good; he went into the restroom just before I did, and it was easy to shift the blame for some that noxious.
I really am sorry.
That was REALLY bad, and even my eyes were watering.
Really, really really sorry.
--The Fumigator in Cubicle 3
Mom,
I didn’t exactly forget your birthday. I bought you a giant box of those chocolates in the yellow box you really like, and I intended to get them in the mail in time. And I know what they say about intentions. I really did mean to send them. But it got kind of hot and I was afraid they would melt so you’d just have a giant blob of chocolate mess, and then it rained and I was depressed…they were quite tasty and you would have enjoyed them. I’m sorry.
The Black Sheep
The Black Sheep
Girl In My English Class,
I workshopped your essay for English the other day that made me mad because I just wanted to shake you. Your paper was on love--and it was clichéd and silly and took itself way too seriously, and everyone was saying how true it was and how wonderful a description of love it was, and I just wanted to roll my eyes...
You presented an excellent paper on what the media is telling us is love.
But honestly? Love isn't a "four lettered word that causes hearts to skip beats, minds to lose focus, faces to blush, and private parts to ache." Love doesn't mean losing control and it doesn't mean passion.
Hint? You're thinking of lust.
You told us all about the wonderful boy you cheated on your boyfriend with over that magical week in Puerto Rico. You told us about how handsome he was in the firelight as you stole kisses before he sat down with his sometimes-girlfriend. You spoke of skinny-dipping and dancing close on the salsa floor.
...Lust.
You're misguided. Love doesn't come in a week. There is no love at first sight. There is interest, there is lust. But love itself comes later, much later, often after marriage. You want to know what love is? It's not someone saying you're beautiful as you stand there half-naked in the moonlight, it's them saying the same thing when you're sweating and swearing your way through labor. Love isn't a passionate kiss by the firelight that makes your blood race, it's a look exchanged between two people who have lived together for decades.
For centuries the prevailing notion was that you would "learn to love" the person you were told to marry. Now, I don't like arranged marriages, but they had a point. Love comes with time. Whatever initially drew you to the person-- friendship with attraction, just flat-out lust-- is just the beginning. Love is the emotion that comes later.
People like you, who think they can fall in love "over and over again," scare me. Because you can't, sweetie, you'll be lucky if it happens once or twice. And when it happens, you won't realize it right away. It'll sneak up on you; you'll be living with a man who's your lover and your friend and one day you'll think about it, and realize that all those times you swore you were in love, really in love, were nothing-- are nothing-- compared to what you feel then. It won't be with a start, but with a slow smile.
And I'm afraid for you, and girls like you. Because when you think you're in love your heart will break over and over again, but when you know that it's just lust, the breakup isn't so bad.
Oh. And quit using those damn clichés.
Yours,
Pet Peeved
You presented an excellent paper on what the media is telling us is love.
But honestly? Love isn't a "four lettered word that causes hearts to skip beats, minds to lose focus, faces to blush, and private parts to ache." Love doesn't mean losing control and it doesn't mean passion.
Hint? You're thinking of lust.
You told us all about the wonderful boy you cheated on your boyfriend with over that magical week in Puerto Rico. You told us about how handsome he was in the firelight as you stole kisses before he sat down with his sometimes-girlfriend. You spoke of skinny-dipping and dancing close on the salsa floor.
...Lust.
You're misguided. Love doesn't come in a week. There is no love at first sight. There is interest, there is lust. But love itself comes later, much later, often after marriage. You want to know what love is? It's not someone saying you're beautiful as you stand there half-naked in the moonlight, it's them saying the same thing when you're sweating and swearing your way through labor. Love isn't a passionate kiss by the firelight that makes your blood race, it's a look exchanged between two people who have lived together for decades.
For centuries the prevailing notion was that you would "learn to love" the person you were told to marry. Now, I don't like arranged marriages, but they had a point. Love comes with time. Whatever initially drew you to the person-- friendship with attraction, just flat-out lust-- is just the beginning. Love is the emotion that comes later.
People like you, who think they can fall in love "over and over again," scare me. Because you can't, sweetie, you'll be lucky if it happens once or twice. And when it happens, you won't realize it right away. It'll sneak up on you; you'll be living with a man who's your lover and your friend and one day you'll think about it, and realize that all those times you swore you were in love, really in love, were nothing-- are nothing-- compared to what you feel then. It won't be with a start, but with a slow smile.
And I'm afraid for you, and girls like you. Because when you think you're in love your heart will break over and over again, but when you know that it's just lust, the breakup isn't so bad.
Oh. And quit using those damn clichés.
Yours,
Pet Peeved
Aunt K,
I honestly don’t remember if it was you or me that didn’t respond to the last letter. If it was me, I’m sorry. Forgive the carelessness of a nine-year-old. I’m sorry I didn’t try to write in the almost twenty years following. I know I should have. I’m not sure if you would have returned my letters or not. I hope not. I’m hoping to find some of your old letters at my parents’ house.
I’m glad I had the chance to know—even though it was for such a short while. Although my memories are hazy, I think of the times we spent together with
great fondness. And I did think of you—even when you weren’t part of our
lives.
I have so many unanswered questions. Why did you isolate yourself from your family? Why did you return my mother’s letters? Why did you suddenly start responding to the letters and almost as suddenly, stop?
I cried the night my Mom called to say that you had passed away. It’s still hard to believe. I met my cousins at your funeral. Your children have grown up into lovely adults—you would be so proud. And your grandchildren are so cute. I wish you could have known them. Your daughter looks exactly like you did the last time I saw you.
I miss you.
Love,
Your Niece
I’m glad I had the chance to know—even though it was for such a short while. Although my memories are hazy, I think of the times we spent together with
great fondness. And I did think of you—even when you weren’t part of our
lives.
I have so many unanswered questions. Why did you isolate yourself from your family? Why did you return my mother’s letters? Why did you suddenly start responding to the letters and almost as suddenly, stop?
I cried the night my Mom called to say that you had passed away. It’s still hard to believe. I met my cousins at your funeral. Your children have grown up into lovely adults—you would be so proud. And your grandchildren are so cute. I wish you could have known them. Your daughter looks exactly like you did the last time I saw you.
I miss you.
Love,
Your Niece
Friday, April 20, 2007
Son
PULL UP YOUR PANTS!
World
Stop spinning. It's not that I want to get off, but I can't seem to keep my feet planted and life just whizzes past my eyes, and I can't take it all in. If you would just slow down for a while, maybe I could get my bearings long enough to find the joy in it again. If the world would just stop spinning, I could remember what it's like to go through life not so dizzy, and I could breathe again.
Me, with my eyes closed.
Me, with my eyes closed.
Dear Friend who-I-wish-was-more
I like you -- ALOT! You're funny, nice with a sarcastic streak, smart, nice, caring, and sexy as hell! We see each other every day, but you have no idea what is going on inside, the stomach butterflies, jittery nerves, and so on. When I try to tell you how I feel, I get too shy and flustered to say anything. Honestly, you scare me a little -- not in a bad way though. I just feel out of my league sometimes when I am with you. I really like hanging out with you and treasure your friendship. I do miss the camaraderie we had when I first met you. There is so much more I wish I could say, but I don't know how with out jeopardizing everything. It doesn't help that I have made a few decisions in my life that don't work or aren't for me anymore and how my world had turned upside down. Well ... there you have it. I like you so much more than you will ever realize.
*sigh*
~~~
Secret Admirer
*sigh*
~~~
Secret Admirer
Great Grandfather
I know that up in Heaven you see and hear and feel everything. I know that you will know exactly what is going on, and how much I have screwed up recently, so this probably seems pointless. Thing is, I wanted to put my thoughts into print. I wanted to tell you, and the world, or whoever might read this, how sorry I am, how I know that I must have disappointed you, you who were always so proud of me. It tears me up inside to acknowledge how much I have let you down. But I promise, Great Granddad, I have learned from this experience and all the dreams you may have had for me are not shattered: just a little scratched, and while my conduct may have been inexcusable, and I know it has been, no-one has died or is going to, nobody was hurt or will be hurt, I've not committed any criminal or indecent acts, and more importantly I'm still me, the girl you knew so well: I'm just at this moment in time someone who made some bad choices.
I need you to forgive me, Great Granddad. Not to understand, or to magically not be sad or disappointed. Just forgive, and remember that everyone messes up once in a while. It's part of being human.
I love you.
Your Great Granddaughter. xxx
I need you to forgive me, Great Granddad. Not to understand, or to magically not be sad or disappointed. Just forgive, and remember that everyone messes up once in a while. It's part of being human.
I love you.
Your Great Granddaughter. xxx
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Readers...
It's going to be a bit over a week before any new letters are posted; something came up and I have to shove my sorry self in a giant lipstick tube and hurtle halfway across the U.S. Please keep submitting your letters; they'll go up on April 20.
Four new ones for April 10 follow...
Four new ones for April 10 follow...
Levi Strauss Co.
Please stop putting the size of men's jeans on the outside label. Women don't have to ut up with it, why should we? The whole world does not need numerical confirmaton on just how fat I am. Let them guess, dammit.
Signed
Not Fat, Just Big Boned
Signed
Not Fat, Just Big Boned
Victor
It’s been almost 30 years, and I can still picture you in my head: thick black Clark Kent plastic glasses; stringy, greasy hair that always seemed to be in need of a cut; acne that appeared as though it exploded across your face in a Jackson Pollack splash of angry red. Your jeans were always just a tad too short and a bit too tight, and your shirts were straight out of Mechanics Quarterly, the only thing missing was your name embroidered on a tacky little oval tag glued just above the left pocket.
In four years of high school, I only spoke to you once. It was during our sophomore year, when you came into the gym looking for a particular student. You’d been sent there by the secretary of the attendance office, where you spent 5th period every day as a student helper; no one else in the gym would acknowledge you, so I walked over to see what you wanted.
The gym filled with squeals of She’s talking to him! and Gross!!!!
I felt bad for both of us, but I admit, I mostly felt bad for myself. They were making fun of me for talking to the school dweeb. To that kid. Hell, just going near that kid could give one a horrible case of infectious cootie-itis, and I didn’t want to be gross by association.
The thing is, my torment ended two minutes later. You had to endure years of it, until high school ended, and quite possibly beyond that.
We never had any classes together, but I noticed you. I doubt you knew who I was or even my name, but I knew who you were, mostly because of torment that followed you the way air follows everyone else. You couldn’t even sit in the cafeteria without kids at nearby tables getting up and moving, the room echoing with their hurtful comments as they loudly shoved their chairs aside.
People commented on your appearance--take a damned bath already--even when they themselves were less than perfectly presentable. Things were sneered in ways that made it clear that you were beneath everyone else, so saying these things was perfectly all right, because obviously you deserved to hear it.
I don’t know how you put up with it, your peers cringing at the sight of you, or with the rude comments, childish snaps of “Hey pizza-face” and “Yo, moon-crater.” I remember people throwing things at you. Food. Wadded up paper. Pencils. The pseudo-gagging as you walked by. One girl crying when you dared to look at her for more than 2 seconds.
Still, you came to school every day. You never cried, at least not where anyone could see.
I don’t know how you survived it.
I don’t know if you survived it.
The thing is, even though I didn’t know you, never had a class with you, and never really had a reason to just strike up a conversation, I have always felt great shame in the way you were treated. I felt it even back then, but I was too much of a coward to stand up for you. Every single one of us should be ashamed, every single person who was a student at our school during the years you were a student.
There was never a reason for you to be treated so badly. No excuse for acting like you were dog crap stuck to the bottom of the collective student body shoes. As far as I know, other than looking a little bit different, you never did or said anything that would explain, or warranted the treatment you received.
Yeah, kids—even older kids—can be cruel. But damn, you suffered.
I am sorry.
I am sorry for all the hurtful names.
I am sorry for the depths of cruelty in the way you were treated.
I am sorry, so very sorry, that I never had the guts to stand up for you. I’m sorry no one else did, either.
I could say I’m sorry a million times over, meaning it more and more each time, and it would not make up for your high school years.
I hope post-high school was kinder to you, though I don’t see how it could be much worse. I hope adult life has treated you well and tasted as sweet as adolescence was bitter. I hope you’ve accomplished goal and found truth in your dreams. And I hope you’re richer than anyone else in the freaking class.
Mostly, I hope you’re alive.
Seriously. I literally pray that you’re alive, and that the crap heaped on you was not too much to bare.
I will never forget you, and I’ll never forgive myself for being such a gutless wonder.
Sincerely,
Regretful in the Class of ‘79
In four years of high school, I only spoke to you once. It was during our sophomore year, when you came into the gym looking for a particular student. You’d been sent there by the secretary of the attendance office, where you spent 5th period every day as a student helper; no one else in the gym would acknowledge you, so I walked over to see what you wanted.
The gym filled with squeals of She’s talking to him! and Gross!!!!
I felt bad for both of us, but I admit, I mostly felt bad for myself. They were making fun of me for talking to the school dweeb. To that kid. Hell, just going near that kid could give one a horrible case of infectious cootie-itis, and I didn’t want to be gross by association.
The thing is, my torment ended two minutes later. You had to endure years of it, until high school ended, and quite possibly beyond that.
We never had any classes together, but I noticed you. I doubt you knew who I was or even my name, but I knew who you were, mostly because of torment that followed you the way air follows everyone else. You couldn’t even sit in the cafeteria without kids at nearby tables getting up and moving, the room echoing with their hurtful comments as they loudly shoved their chairs aside.
People commented on your appearance--take a damned bath already--even when they themselves were less than perfectly presentable. Things were sneered in ways that made it clear that you were beneath everyone else, so saying these things was perfectly all right, because obviously you deserved to hear it.
I don’t know how you put up with it, your peers cringing at the sight of you, or with the rude comments, childish snaps of “Hey pizza-face” and “Yo, moon-crater.” I remember people throwing things at you. Food. Wadded up paper. Pencils. The pseudo-gagging as you walked by. One girl crying when you dared to look at her for more than 2 seconds.
Still, you came to school every day. You never cried, at least not where anyone could see.
I don’t know how you survived it.
I don’t know if you survived it.
The thing is, even though I didn’t know you, never had a class with you, and never really had a reason to just strike up a conversation, I have always felt great shame in the way you were treated. I felt it even back then, but I was too much of a coward to stand up for you. Every single one of us should be ashamed, every single person who was a student at our school during the years you were a student.
There was never a reason for you to be treated so badly. No excuse for acting like you were dog crap stuck to the bottom of the collective student body shoes. As far as I know, other than looking a little bit different, you never did or said anything that would explain, or warranted the treatment you received.
Yeah, kids—even older kids—can be cruel. But damn, you suffered.
I am sorry.
I am sorry for all the hurtful names.
I am sorry for the depths of cruelty in the way you were treated.
I am sorry, so very sorry, that I never had the guts to stand up for you. I’m sorry no one else did, either.
I could say I’m sorry a million times over, meaning it more and more each time, and it would not make up for your high school years.
I hope post-high school was kinder to you, though I don’t see how it could be much worse. I hope adult life has treated you well and tasted as sweet as adolescence was bitter. I hope you’ve accomplished goal and found truth in your dreams. And I hope you’re richer than anyone else in the freaking class.
Mostly, I hope you’re alive.
Seriously. I literally pray that you’re alive, and that the crap heaped on you was not too much to bare.
I will never forget you, and I’ll never forgive myself for being such a gutless wonder.
Sincerely,
Regretful in the Class of ‘79
Mom
Dear Mom,
I just want to start out by saying how much I love you, and how thankful I am for having a mother who allowed me to try anything that my little heart found interest in. You really mean everything to me, and you always will.
Above all, though, I miss you. Even though i still see you almost every day, you're not there anymore. The mother i once had, that i could count on, is lost somewhere inside your mind. I wish that my words could have somehow brought you back, but i guess you're just not ready to to return yet. I hope you do before you die, because every time you snort coke, you're risking your life. I want you to see me get married, i want you to see me have children, but i can't help but fear every day that you wont ever get to see those things. It's gotten to the point where i can't be at home anymore, even today, Easter. Not that holiday's ever go smoothly at the house, but it's just too much for me right now. The last two days have been such a nightmare that i almost can't handle it. I thank whoever is up there for Gary every day, because without him not only would i not have a place to go, but i also wouldn't be able to make it through all of this.
It really breaks my heart that you've chosen cocaine over your children, and grandchildren. Is life with us really that horrible?
Last night when we had another talk, i realized that you really are just gone. I don't know you? are you kidding? you've been telling me that i'm your soul mate for years, that you can always open up to me. How can i not know you? I know you are a really private person, but i am your daughter, your youngest daughter, your "soul mate". why can't you just talk to me anymore? I ask you what your plan would be, if we have you 3 months to do it on your own, and you just beat around the bush and then say "i'll get it out of my life". Thats not a plan, Mom. a plan is "i'm going to go talk to a professional, and see what my options are". Atleast i got you to admit that you don't have a plan, but i guess that doesn't really matter anyway.
I talked to Miranda before i left and she told me that you want to wean yourself off of it. That isn't going to work. You need to just Stop, flat out. Otherwise, it will never end. And mom, i'm not abandoning you, like you say i am. It's not abandonment when you've said and done everything you possibly can to get someone to help themselves. There comes a point where you have to start thinking about yourself, and your own sanity. I didn't want to leave the house, but i had to. You drove me away by choosing a drug over me. We wanted to prevent you from hitting a bottom like dad did when he was drinking, but apparently we're going to just have to wait. I just hope your bottom isn't you, lying on the floor, dead because your heart couldn't handle it anymore.
Mom, i hope that sometime soon you see whats happening, and that you choose to end it. I hope you understand that you're destroying the relationships you have with your three daughters, and that you don't even have any relationship with your two grandchildren. Maybe when you realize that, you'll stop. Because i know that we used to matter to you, or maybe we still do. maybe your caring about us is lost deep within yourself, where you've buried my mother. I hope she isn't suffocating.
Happy easter, Mom. I love you. I miss you.
Love, always
Jonna
I just want to start out by saying how much I love you, and how thankful I am for having a mother who allowed me to try anything that my little heart found interest in. You really mean everything to me, and you always will.
Above all, though, I miss you. Even though i still see you almost every day, you're not there anymore. The mother i once had, that i could count on, is lost somewhere inside your mind. I wish that my words could have somehow brought you back, but i guess you're just not ready to to return yet. I hope you do before you die, because every time you snort coke, you're risking your life. I want you to see me get married, i want you to see me have children, but i can't help but fear every day that you wont ever get to see those things. It's gotten to the point where i can't be at home anymore, even today, Easter. Not that holiday's ever go smoothly at the house, but it's just too much for me right now. The last two days have been such a nightmare that i almost can't handle it. I thank whoever is up there for Gary every day, because without him not only would i not have a place to go, but i also wouldn't be able to make it through all of this.
It really breaks my heart that you've chosen cocaine over your children, and grandchildren. Is life with us really that horrible?
Last night when we had another talk, i realized that you really are just gone. I don't know you? are you kidding? you've been telling me that i'm your soul mate for years, that you can always open up to me. How can i not know you? I know you are a really private person, but i am your daughter, your youngest daughter, your "soul mate". why can't you just talk to me anymore? I ask you what your plan would be, if we have you 3 months to do it on your own, and you just beat around the bush and then say "i'll get it out of my life". Thats not a plan, Mom. a plan is "i'm going to go talk to a professional, and see what my options are". Atleast i got you to admit that you don't have a plan, but i guess that doesn't really matter anyway.
I talked to Miranda before i left and she told me that you want to wean yourself off of it. That isn't going to work. You need to just Stop, flat out. Otherwise, it will never end. And mom, i'm not abandoning you, like you say i am. It's not abandonment when you've said and done everything you possibly can to get someone to help themselves. There comes a point where you have to start thinking about yourself, and your own sanity. I didn't want to leave the house, but i had to. You drove me away by choosing a drug over me. We wanted to prevent you from hitting a bottom like dad did when he was drinking, but apparently we're going to just have to wait. I just hope your bottom isn't you, lying on the floor, dead because your heart couldn't handle it anymore.
Mom, i hope that sometime soon you see whats happening, and that you choose to end it. I hope you understand that you're destroying the relationships you have with your three daughters, and that you don't even have any relationship with your two grandchildren. Maybe when you realize that, you'll stop. Because i know that we used to matter to you, or maybe we still do. maybe your caring about us is lost deep within yourself, where you've buried my mother. I hope she isn't suffocating.
Happy easter, Mom. I love you. I miss you.
Love, always
Jonna
Woman In Coffee Shop
Normally it doesn’t bother me when someone in public obviously stares right through me to make a point of saying hi to someone else—even when you’re standing right in front of my table. However, it is a bit annoying when you actually do know me. You gave my mother a job over twenty years ago. I used to play at your house during work parties there. Granted that was twenty years ago—and I’m no longer a shy grade-school student. But our paths have crossed multiple times over the years. Your goddaughter was a close friend of mine in high school. Remember, I was at her graduation party? You said you remembered me then. And we just met again a couple of months ago at a concert. Remember my mother introduced me again? Obviously not.
Sincerely,
“Stranger” from coffee shop
Sincerely,
“Stranger” from coffee shop
Friday, April 6, 2007
Sister O'Mine
You're 33 years old now. I love you, I really do love you, but please stop dressing like a 13 year old. In fact, please stop letting your 13 year old dress like a 13 year old. When you and I were kids, the only women who dressed like that got paid paltry sums on street corners to do unmentionable things to creepy old men with fetishes.
No one needs to see the keg you are positive is a nice 6 pack. And no one needs to see JUICY written across the butt of your shorts. And those shorts...please pick them out of your nether cheeks.
I don't know when slut-wear became acceptable, but seriously, you're far too old and too mature looking to pull it off. Sooner or later the grandfather of one of our friends is going to offer you $20 to play "find the wonder weenie," because that's just the image those clothes are projecting.
Please, I'll even buy you a whole new wardrobe if you'll just cover up the goods and take the ads off your ass.
With Sincere Love And Affection,
Your Younger Brother By 3 Whole Minutes
No one needs to see the keg you are positive is a nice 6 pack. And no one needs to see JUICY written across the butt of your shorts. And those shorts...please pick them out of your nether cheeks.
I don't know when slut-wear became acceptable, but seriously, you're far too old and too mature looking to pull it off. Sooner or later the grandfather of one of our friends is going to offer you $20 to play "find the wonder weenie," because that's just the image those clothes are projecting.
Please, I'll even buy you a whole new wardrobe if you'll just cover up the goods and take the ads off your ass.
With Sincere Love And Affection,
Your Younger Brother By 3 Whole Minutes
So and So
I thought we were friends. I thought, because you told me so, that I was important to you. I thought that our friendship meant everything to you. I guess I was wrong.
I’ll tell you something. Shall I? Yes, I think I shall.
You were one of the most important friends I had. Your opinion meant a lot to me. We had so much in common it was so hard to believe. We talked about things I could never talk to anyone else about. No one understood like you did. We thought so much alike it was downright spooky at times.
I felt a connection with you that I rarely felt with other people. Maybe it was because we had both been abused as children. Maybe it was because we had once or twice been raped by someone. Maybe it was because we both had issues that no one else understood, but we did.
We understood the pain we felt. We understood the lack of trust we had for people. We just understood each other like no one else ever could understand.
What I don’t understand is why I couldn’t spend more time with you. You hung out with everyone else, but with me, when I did manage to get you to myself for awhile, it felt like you could only spend this much time, like I was some kind of diversion or something.
It wasn’t like that in the beginning, but things change and I guess you did too. You are going to have to remember something though. Only someone who has gone through as much hell as you have will ever understand why you think and do what you do. Only someone like me!
But that’s okay. Yeah, it’s okay. I only wish you the best in whatever you do and hope that one day you will find the peace you so much want to have. I hope you get it one day. No, really I do!
But you can’t come back. The trust I had for you is gone. Remember our conversation about trust? How we both had trust issues? Yeah, I don’t trust you now and I won’t ever be able to trust you again. It’s just the way it is, so remember this, you can’t come back.
Love and Peace
Red
I’ll tell you something. Shall I? Yes, I think I shall.
You were one of the most important friends I had. Your opinion meant a lot to me. We had so much in common it was so hard to believe. We talked about things I could never talk to anyone else about. No one understood like you did. We thought so much alike it was downright spooky at times.
I felt a connection with you that I rarely felt with other people. Maybe it was because we had both been abused as children. Maybe it was because we had once or twice been raped by someone. Maybe it was because we both had issues that no one else understood, but we did.
We understood the pain we felt. We understood the lack of trust we had for people. We just understood each other like no one else ever could understand.
What I don’t understand is why I couldn’t spend more time with you. You hung out with everyone else, but with me, when I did manage to get you to myself for awhile, it felt like you could only spend this much time, like I was some kind of diversion or something.
It wasn’t like that in the beginning, but things change and I guess you did too. You are going to have to remember something though. Only someone who has gone through as much hell as you have will ever understand why you think and do what you do. Only someone like me!
But that’s okay. Yeah, it’s okay. I only wish you the best in whatever you do and hope that one day you will find the peace you so much want to have. I hope you get it one day. No, really I do!
But you can’t come back. The trust I had for you is gone. Remember our conversation about trust? How we both had trust issues? Yeah, I don’t trust you now and I won’t ever be able to trust you again. It’s just the way it is, so remember this, you can’t come back.
Love and Peace
Red
Grandmother
If you even have it in your heart to care: we're doing fine. Better than when we were still talking to you. Mom is happy now, I wonder how just cutting you out of our lives had such good results in the long run. Sure, we had to move because you kept on sending your related idiots after us to pick fights. The same people who never were woth the smallest good word before, but I guess they're the ones who can do things now for you, aren't they?
I'm in university now, remember when you said that a girl wouldn't need that? Remember the only reason you were happy about my getting such high grades in secondary school was because you could brag about them? I remember.
I'm going to be a teacher once I'm done with university, you made me strong enough to think I can do that job. You showed me in the worst ways possible that I can do more than I ever expected myself able to do. I still remember your look of surprise when I physically kept you from attacking my father in the middle of a crowded street. My father is in a wheelchair and in pain every single day, how sick do you have to be to attack him? He did everything you asked, but when he refused to go to a party because we didn't know the people who were giving it, he apparently turned into the ultimate evil in that twisted brain of yours. I fought you, I physically fought you to keep you from hurting my father, I still have the scar from when you bit me hard enough to draw blood. I couldn't draw for weeks because my hand was bruised so badly and I was so happy that the bruise on my face went down before school started again.
You blame me and dad for the fact that my mother and little sister no longer talk to you. They chose that, I only made sure you couldn't hurt them like you were trying to do and I'm damn proud of it. So if that makes me the wicked granddaughter who should never have breathed her first breath? So be it, but you can't change a thing about it.
Our life became so much more relaxed since moving out of your reach. You're no longer making mom feel like she's a bad mother, you're no longer demanding from us to come by and entertain you instead of going out in the world and accepting the invitations from the other old women in your street. We're happy now and you can't change that. I won't let you.
I don't hate you, when I look inside my heart and try to figure out how I feel about you I just see a blank space. A blank space where one day someone special to me will take your place. To hate, I still have to have feelings for someone, but I can't have feelings for a stranger. That's what you are to me now: a stranger. You've driven me too far and there's no turning back now. I won't let you hurt me or my family again.
Sincerely,
Me.
I'm in university now, remember when you said that a girl wouldn't need that? Remember the only reason you were happy about my getting such high grades in secondary school was because you could brag about them? I remember.
I'm going to be a teacher once I'm done with university, you made me strong enough to think I can do that job. You showed me in the worst ways possible that I can do more than I ever expected myself able to do. I still remember your look of surprise when I physically kept you from attacking my father in the middle of a crowded street. My father is in a wheelchair and in pain every single day, how sick do you have to be to attack him? He did everything you asked, but when he refused to go to a party because we didn't know the people who were giving it, he apparently turned into the ultimate evil in that twisted brain of yours. I fought you, I physically fought you to keep you from hurting my father, I still have the scar from when you bit me hard enough to draw blood. I couldn't draw for weeks because my hand was bruised so badly and I was so happy that the bruise on my face went down before school started again.
You blame me and dad for the fact that my mother and little sister no longer talk to you. They chose that, I only made sure you couldn't hurt them like you were trying to do and I'm damn proud of it. So if that makes me the wicked granddaughter who should never have breathed her first breath? So be it, but you can't change a thing about it.
Our life became so much more relaxed since moving out of your reach. You're no longer making mom feel like she's a bad mother, you're no longer demanding from us to come by and entertain you instead of going out in the world and accepting the invitations from the other old women in your street. We're happy now and you can't change that. I won't let you.
I don't hate you, when I look inside my heart and try to figure out how I feel about you I just see a blank space. A blank space where one day someone special to me will take your place. To hate, I still have to have feelings for someone, but I can't have feelings for a stranger. That's what you are to me now: a stranger. You've driven me too far and there's no turning back now. I won't let you hurt me or my family again.
Sincerely,
Me.
Truck Driver
My girlfriend drives truck for a living and usually I have the greatest respect for the professionals who transport our goods from one end of the country to the other. You, however, are the exception. Do you not use your mirrors and turn signals when switching lanes? I know it was gray and rainy and I have a silver four wheeler but my lights were on and I was not in your blind spot when you chose to turn on the turn signal and immediately whip into my lane. I don’t enjoy seeing a semi trailer that closely at 65 mph, nor do I enjoy slamming on my breaks to avoid said trailer. Then following you at 56 mph in a 65 mph zone when you had no mud flaps was an absolute joy.
Thanks again Mr. Truck Driver for doing your job so well.
Sincerely,
Heather, the girl in the four wheeler
Thanks again Mr. Truck Driver for doing your job so well.
Sincerely,
Heather, the girl in the four wheeler
Power That Is
Why do you hate us? Why do you throw these things at me, so that I can never catch up?
And Why all at once?
You took my mother too soon that should have been enough, but no then you took my dog. Then you took my grandmother not even a year later. Then a month after that I miscarried. And have had problems with fertility ever since. And then another month later, my father married another woman who despises me. I thought that was it, I really did. And I could take that.
But then you mess with my friends parents, that's not cool either. You were kind to help them and their families pull through it. But where is the sunshine on me? I try and do good things, I have volunteered, I have donated money. I don't know what more I am supposed to do. I know I don't go to church, but maybe I should. Maybe you are mad about that. I don't know.
But then do to some misunderstanding the mortgage wasn't paid for 6 months, we thought we were paying it, I still think it was a mistake on the mortgage company. But anyway they are foreclosing on our home. We were supposed to close last Friday and that was delayed. I could handle that. But now they have been declined and we are probably going to lose our house.
Why have you done all this with in a span of 2 years? How much am I supposed to take? I'm trying to be strong, and still have faith, but there is only so much one can take.
Just give us a break, please…
Regards,
Worn out.
And Why all at once?
You took my mother too soon that should have been enough, but no then you took my dog. Then you took my grandmother not even a year later. Then a month after that I miscarried. And have had problems with fertility ever since. And then another month later, my father married another woman who despises me. I thought that was it, I really did. And I could take that.
But then you mess with my friends parents, that's not cool either. You were kind to help them and their families pull through it. But where is the sunshine on me? I try and do good things, I have volunteered, I have donated money. I don't know what more I am supposed to do. I know I don't go to church, but maybe I should. Maybe you are mad about that. I don't know.
But then do to some misunderstanding the mortgage wasn't paid for 6 months, we thought we were paying it, I still think it was a mistake on the mortgage company. But anyway they are foreclosing on our home. We were supposed to close last Friday and that was delayed. I could handle that. But now they have been declined and we are probably going to lose our house.
Why have you done all this with in a span of 2 years? How much am I supposed to take? I'm trying to be strong, and still have faith, but there is only so much one can take.
Just give us a break, please…
Regards,
Worn out.
Tuesday, April 3, 2007
Sean
I wanted to tell you Happy Birthday, but then the thought occured to me that you might not even think about birthdays where you are. Do you? You're eight years old today, or at least you would be if you were still with us, still here laughing your way through trouble as much as you invited it. Part of me thinks that birthdays just aren't very important in heaven, but part of me hopes you're having all kinds of silly fun with other angels your age.
I see your friends quite often, and I measure what you would be doing if you were still here. Quinn is pitching on a little league baseball team, did you know that? I watched his team play last weekend, and I thought about your T-ball team, how you used to swing at the ball so hard that you'd spin on your heels, gong round and round until you fell down, and how you laughed about it, as if it was the funniest and most absurd part of the game. Every time Quinn threw the ball I imagined you were the catcher, that it was your glove closing around the snap of the ball thrown by your best friend.
He still misses you. He hasn't forgotten you; sometimes he asks what I think you're doing, and I tell him I'm sure you're watching his games, cheering him on, and that you'd get a kick out of how good a pitcher he's become. Deep in my heart I know the time is going to come when he starts to forget about you, at least on a day to day basis. Sooner or later there will be a day that goes by that you don't cross his mind, and there will be games that I don't see, and that breaks my heart, just a little.
The other day I was at the park with your brother and saw a group of little boys running by the pond, and for a split second my breath caught and my heart skipped; would you be running with them, if you could? Or would your interests have changed enough that you would prefer to be at home, reading a book? You loved to be read to when you were tiny, and I always hoped that you would still love books as you got older. But I saw those boys and wished you were among them, running and screaming and terrifying the ducks that tore into the water.
I went into a toy store and wondered what gifts we'd be buying you this year. A remote controlled car? One of those toys that come in ten thousand pieces that you could assemble a million different ways? Sports gear? There were so many possiblities, and I wanted to buy you one of everything, but in the end left with just small toy for Gavin. I needed to buy something for someone, something to distract myself from knowing that I would never buy you another birthday present.
Do you know how much my heart hurts? I don't think I will ever be whole again, because when you left you took such a big part of my soul. And that's all right, because it was yours to take. Even when I bleed tears, I know that you're protecting that part of me, and I'll have it back someday. Does your heart hurt? Or do you feel a sense of calm because you know that what I have here is just temporary, and in the grand scheme of things it's only a bruise?
I miss you so much, but even though it hurts mre than anything else I could imagine, I am grateful that your pain is gone. I thank God that I had even those short six years with you, and that when he called you home you were alseep, and you weren't in any pain. Sometimes I think it's not fair; babies are not supposed to get sick with things like cancer, and they surely are not supposed to die. But then I think that nothing is fair, it just is what it is, and I shouldn't let my disappointment cloud over the joy I still feel at being your mother.
Whatever else you have to do today, I hope you look down on us and smile. You're all we'll think about today, and even though there will be tears--mine, your father's, even Gavin--we'll be talking about the good things, and we'll laugh a lot. Even though we miss you terribly and would give anything to have you here with us, you left us with so many good things that we can't help but smile.
I'll love you forever, Little Man.
Mom
I see your friends quite often, and I measure what you would be doing if you were still here. Quinn is pitching on a little league baseball team, did you know that? I watched his team play last weekend, and I thought about your T-ball team, how you used to swing at the ball so hard that you'd spin on your heels, gong round and round until you fell down, and how you laughed about it, as if it was the funniest and most absurd part of the game. Every time Quinn threw the ball I imagined you were the catcher, that it was your glove closing around the snap of the ball thrown by your best friend.
He still misses you. He hasn't forgotten you; sometimes he asks what I think you're doing, and I tell him I'm sure you're watching his games, cheering him on, and that you'd get a kick out of how good a pitcher he's become. Deep in my heart I know the time is going to come when he starts to forget about you, at least on a day to day basis. Sooner or later there will be a day that goes by that you don't cross his mind, and there will be games that I don't see, and that breaks my heart, just a little.
The other day I was at the park with your brother and saw a group of little boys running by the pond, and for a split second my breath caught and my heart skipped; would you be running with them, if you could? Or would your interests have changed enough that you would prefer to be at home, reading a book? You loved to be read to when you were tiny, and I always hoped that you would still love books as you got older. But I saw those boys and wished you were among them, running and screaming and terrifying the ducks that tore into the water.
I went into a toy store and wondered what gifts we'd be buying you this year. A remote controlled car? One of those toys that come in ten thousand pieces that you could assemble a million different ways? Sports gear? There were so many possiblities, and I wanted to buy you one of everything, but in the end left with just small toy for Gavin. I needed to buy something for someone, something to distract myself from knowing that I would never buy you another birthday present.
Do you know how much my heart hurts? I don't think I will ever be whole again, because when you left you took such a big part of my soul. And that's all right, because it was yours to take. Even when I bleed tears, I know that you're protecting that part of me, and I'll have it back someday. Does your heart hurt? Or do you feel a sense of calm because you know that what I have here is just temporary, and in the grand scheme of things it's only a bruise?
I miss you so much, but even though it hurts mre than anything else I could imagine, I am grateful that your pain is gone. I thank God that I had even those short six years with you, and that when he called you home you were alseep, and you weren't in any pain. Sometimes I think it's not fair; babies are not supposed to get sick with things like cancer, and they surely are not supposed to die. But then I think that nothing is fair, it just is what it is, and I shouldn't let my disappointment cloud over the joy I still feel at being your mother.
Whatever else you have to do today, I hope you look down on us and smile. You're all we'll think about today, and even though there will be tears--mine, your father's, even Gavin--we'll be talking about the good things, and we'll laugh a lot. Even though we miss you terribly and would give anything to have you here with us, you left us with so many good things that we can't help but smile.
I'll love you forever, Little Man.
Mom
Sperm Donor,
Screw you. I saw you the other day out with your new family on the same day you supposedly couldn't be there for my 16th birthday party because you had a business trip. You know, it wasn't even supposed to be a big deal, just a couple of friends and my parents going out for pizza. Didn't I even invite her and the kids? I did. So it's not like you weren't going to come because I was excluding anyone. I wanted them there. It would be nice to get to know my half siblings but you won't let me get close enough.
But I saw you out with them at the same time you were on this trip. We decided to change plans and do something else because I was really upset that you had to work, and there you were with them, right in the middle of the park, psuhing your little boy on the swings.
Well fuck you. That was the last time I'm ever going to let you hurt me. I figured out a long time ago that they were more important to you but I finally understand that I don't matter at all. So I'll never bother you again. I graduate next year but you don't have to worry about making an excuse for not being there because you won't even be told about it until it's over.
I know the first born is the practice kid but you didn't even try.
But I saw you out with them at the same time you were on this trip. We decided to change plans and do something else because I was really upset that you had to work, and there you were with them, right in the middle of the park, psuhing your little boy on the swings.
Well fuck you. That was the last time I'm ever going to let you hurt me. I figured out a long time ago that they were more important to you but I finally understand that I don't matter at all. So I'll never bother you again. I graduate next year but you don't have to worry about making an excuse for not being there because you won't even be told about it until it's over.
I know the first born is the practice kid but you didn't even try.
People Who Blog About God
Say it. Say GOD. G-O-D. Not G-d. Not G*d. Don't drop a letter so that "those" kinds of people won't find your post with a random Google or Yahoo search. Have some guts. Stand up. If you're going to mention God, give him his due and just say it. God. GOD. GOD.
Sincerely,
D-n
Sincerely,
D-n
Sunday, April 1, 2007
The Legal Dribble
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1. Send a snail mail letter. Either type or print (legibly) your letter, sign it exactly in the manner you wish it to appear, and mail it to K.A. Thompson, P.O. Box 441, Vacaville, CA 95696.
Example:
Dear Lady In The Blue Volvo,
Thanks for coming so close to running me over that I had to jump back. I wound up falling on my backside, my slacks ripped clear through the crotch, and I wasn't wearing any underwear. Trust me, that made for one awkward job interview.
Sincerely,
Guy Who Called You THAT Name...
2. Send the letter via email to writealetter@dearsoandso.com ; in the subject line type SUBMISSION. Then just type your letter, including how you want it signed, and click on "send."
Letters containing threats, either implicit or implied, will not be published, and may be turned over to the appropriate law enforcement authority. So, don't write a letter threatening to off anyone...
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