i was digging through a drawer tonight and found the following letter from last summer. i had written it when i flew back to ny to see a close friend that had just had a baby. this one is too poignant not to save here:
"letter to: [dated 6/14/12]
i'm not sure where to start so let's start here. there are moments when i don't know what i'm really doing. moments like today. coming to new york yet again, professing love and loyal friendship instead of simply admitting i'd rather be here than somewhere else. my father always seems to know what's really up. one of these days, he won't be right all the time.
it's easier for me to be here. i know where i am. who is around. what to do. it's easier to be amused than terrified. i know i will have to move past this like any other challenge i've had in my life. and i will.
it would be easier, i think, if you were here too.
sometimes i fear we will never meet. that i will continue to live as i've lived for 12 years now. but then i think that it would be a shame if our story never happened, so it has to start at some point.
i'd like to work up the courage to find you. i forget where to start. it used to always be so easy. but that was a different part of my life. i was such a different person. most of the time, i wish i could go back to then. that easy time in my life when i felt so much more comfortable in my own skin.
and wondering why, exactly, i don't now.
there must've been a million little moments that led me to this shell of a girl. rejections. insecurity. worrying about others and what they were thinking. it's hard to believe i let it get to me. the girl i used to be would've told them all to fuck off - the mean people, and the voices in my own head.
i'm lying on the grass in central park. it's peaceful, comfortable... i almost feel the little pieces of my soul flittering around my heart, wanting to land somewhere finally. i so want to be back together with myself. continue this process of growing and healing. it's a slow steady process. and i know i must go through it before i meet you. this baggage is more than enough to deal with on my own - i couldn't put you through this as well.
i wonder... i wonder what you look like. taste like. smell like. i like to wonder if you could put up with my moods. or if you have some of your own for me to learn. i wonder if you're older than me. if you watch cartoons. if you have a mother i could love as my own.
i wonder if i'll ever sing in public again. if i'll ever pick up my violin again. if i'll ever work up the courage to scuba dive. if i'll ever be brave enough to really dye my hair. if i'll get a puppy. if i'll quit my job. if i'll go back to school.
i am scared all the time. i used to worry it was anxiety, then realized i was being anxious. ironic. i don't know why i'm afraid of mistakes, of sitting still, of settling... but i am. i'm afraid of not being perfect. of not being liked. of not moving ahead.
and oh, how i want to move ahead, and move on."
it's strange to think that a letter from last year could sum up exactly how i'm feeling a year later. i guess some things never change.
