Dear "You"...From "Me"-Letters Unsent

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Dear brain,

Can I please have a good night's sleep?

Thanks.

I

Dear Mirtazapine,

Thanks for a great nights sleep.

From Green Dave.

Dear Me,

She messed with your head; so she's not worth it,

Move on,

Thanks

ps....my head is so fecked. Ty

Dear Father;

No one would deny that you have been highly supportive of me throughout my entire life; you provided for all of my material needs and wants, made sure that I did well in school, supported me in my extra-circulars, and did you best to ensure my general happiness. You are a pretty good father as far as fathers go, I must say.

That being said, you are also emotionally abusive.

I have tried to deny this for years. For so long, it was "just his style of communication," "just the way he is," and "just the consequence of being an older father whose wife got deported to another country and who got stuck with a 'special' child he never planned for in the first place because he thought the woman was done producing eggs." I get that you never wanted to be in this situation; I get that this is hard on you. I get that you never signed up for this. I get it, really. For so long, I prefaced so many of your words and actions with, "Now, I don't think that my father is abusive or anything, but..."; for so long, I did all that I could to ensure that therapists would remark on what a good, supportive, caring father you are. And you are all of that, I suppose. But when you yell at your daughter for any display of negative emotion (and some displays of positive emotion, at that), when you chase her to her room and demand that she open the damn door even when you know that she is trembling and crying on the other side, when your daughter tells you repeatedly that she is afraid of you, when you tell her so many times how disgusting and incapable and abnormal she is, when she sobs right in front of you and you, when not yelling at her, do nothing, when the school counselor called you in due to her suicidal remarks and you do nothing for another year until it happens the second time around, even though others have been saying that she needed therapy since she was a young child, when you always find something to be upset about, something to raise your voice over, even though the previous nineteen years of experience should have taught you that anger only makes her more anxious...

Maybe it's not abuse, but I can't think of another way to phrase it. Incompatible personalities? Perhaps. But when you barge into her room after she, still sobbing, reluctantly unlocks the door, when you angrily tear open the closet door that she hid herself behind and demand that she gets her ass out, goddammit...

Maybe emotional neglect is a better way to put it. They told you years ago that it was a developmental delay or autism; shouldn't that have been enough time to learn, to research, to realize that the way you act, the way you yell, the way you curse and holler simply isn't going to work with such a sensitive creature? It never has, father, and that isn't going to change over night. Look, I get that I'm frustrating. I get that I worry too much over things I shouldn't. I get that I'm not a "normal" teenager and that that worries you immensely. I get that you worry that you may have to look after me for the rest of your ever-ending life and that this terrifies you. I get that you're older, that you should be retired and childless by now, that you should be relaxing. I get that you expected me to have "grown out of it" by now. I get that I terrify you. I get that I'm killing you slowly, and I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, I am. I never meant to do this to you, never meant to be such an unwelcome intrusion on your happiness. I get that I quite possibly ruined your life, though I know that you'd never admit that. At least not directly. But there's many times...

Maybe it's me after all. I'm willing to admit that. I'm willing to admit that I'm not the easiest daughter to have, that I'm not something a sixty-seven year old man with tiring knees and a heart condition should have been stuck with.

But when your daughter is left questioning whether you really love her or if you just do the supportive, caring things that you do because society mandates it, when your daughter lives in constant fear of disappointing you, when every muscle in her body tenses up when she hears your voice, when she's left convinced that you secretly loathe her, something is going on.

Call it abuse; call it emotional neglect; call it being stuck; call it whatever you like, but it is evident that something isn't working.

And I can't live like this for much longer.

You never abused me physically in any manner, but the following from Cocorosie's song "Werewolf" still applies;

"I don't mean to close the door
But for the record my heart is sore
You blew through me like bullet holes
Left stains on my sheets and stains on my soul "

Right now, I'm dependent on you, and I'm grateful for all that you provide, really, but, sooner or later, you're going to start seeing me less and less.

I'm sorry for everything.

"I'm a shake you off, though
Get up on that horse and
Ride into the sunset
Look back with no remorse"

Sincerely,
These Stains Won't Come Clean Easily

Dear you,

Nobody likes a whistle blower,

there is nothing even going on that is wrong, you might as well take your principles elsewhere.

From me.

Dear Miley Cyrus,
I have been planning our wedding in Hawaii for three weeks, and you refuse to message me back on twitter. Divorce is my only option now, or so it seems, I have been praying for our relationship recovery for months and have had no success. This is our last chance for us to live our lives together, please don't be the reason why we can't.
Sincerely,
StuffedMarshmallow

Dear me,

You did f*****g well today girl, you f****n smashed it.

If they have a go at you on Monday just laugh at them like you usually do.

Love from me.

P.S. don't forget that punch bag. You've to look after your knuckles.

(Note to self)

Dear Me,

Yikes! You clogged up the toilet today...AGAIN!

Hopefully you'll still have enough money to pay your application fee, which you'll plan on doing tommorow.

Signed,
Me

Not so dear you,
You lied about SO much.
I warned you.
Enough said.

Me

Dear Me,

Remember to drink water.

Signed,
Me

Dear Me,

Remember to clean the shower when you get home.

Signed,
Me

Dear Mom and Dad,
We're talking again, but God knows how long that'll last. I know you're probably confused, as to why I'm still withdrawing myself, when to you, everything is okay. But as Mom said, during one of her rants, lines are crossed and you can't go back. So I'm not going back. The line you two crossed was when Dad offered to send me to social services (and you, Mom, stood by). Or maybe, it's when, two years ago, you threw me out of the house (but took me back in). Or maybe it was when you two forced me to stay in my room all weekend, eating meals in there too. Or maybe it was when you said I couldn't use the phone, except when you're in earshot.
I think I've lost count now, Mom and Dad. Of the times you've imposed sanctions, borderline abuse sometimes, and my school has had to intervene. And then, we get talking again, and it's like all is forgotten and I "forgot" too, because, well, I don't know anymore. But I'll pretend because, well, to be honest, it makes my life easier. It'll make you happy too, for the year and a half I have left. And then, I'm gone. Outta this place, hopefully to a career that you don't approve off. That will be my permanent career, because the type/kind of job I want is for keeps. And then, you two won't talk to me ever again. End of story.
("Police brutality!" You said. "The army shoots people! The army is terrible!" You said. I never forgot. I'm not the kind of kid that forgets and we don't seem to be the kind of family that remembers.)
And that'll be the end of it, no more f***ing back and forth. In some ways, I'm glad, I'm waiting for that day. Then it'll be it. Over and done with, us. A clear end.
So I'll stay nice for the next year and a half, while you push careers at me that I don't really want. You see, Mom and Dad, I've already decided. And as you would know, (if you'd bothered to read any of the literature about autism or AS), we Aspies are stubborn people. Or at least, I am. I'm damn well sticking to my guns. It's my bloody life. I'm going to live it. Just give me a year and a half.
Love,
Your daughter x
P.S. Just because we're being nice (for now), doesn't mean I want you near me, physically. Dad, stop trying to hug me and/or expecting hugs. It ain't gonna happen.

Dear you,

You deserved that.

I'm not a con merchant.

From me.

Dear ***,
I am sorry that I hurt you (indirectly) and hope you won´t have too much pain the next few days.
Thank you for not being as angry as I expected about the story mentioned above.

Me

Dear you,

You are the only one who knows and understands what such a little s**t I have been in my life. But you just take me for what I am and treat me as though I am flawless.

You put me on the right road and all I do is spit in you face and slander your name to all that listen. I am a c**t, but still you are there.

I need your help again please.

From Me.

Dear Me,

Remember NOT to flirt with the pretty cashier girl at the grocery store that's located by the house. She has a boyfriend!

Signed,
Me