Hannah,
Did you ever keep a diary? I always find myself re-reading old text and realizing over and over that I make the same stupid mistakes. I guess I never learn. I’m exceedingly flawed. I’m a near twenty-something cutter with daddy issues. I never know the bounds between friends and beyond. I flirt with everyone—boys and girls. I have little to no empathy for anyone. I scarcely listen. I’m consistently missing.
I have kissed thirty-one people in my life. And while I feel as though that it not a horribly significant number, I guess most people do. I think I am easy. Or maybe just careless. Reckless. I think I am reckless. I really just. I don’t care about anything. Sometimes I don’t think I care about any given person either. My sister being the exception. Andrea being another.
Sometimes I think about doing something drastic to break the cycle. Sometimes I self-mutilate. Razors. Alcohol. Cigarettes. A combination. I really want to feel something. I want to make myself hurt. Physically. I want to see myself bleed. Aaron says that he thinks blood is beautiful. I never understand that. When someone can negate those monsters.
I feel as though you probably misunderstand me. You were light. I think that sometimes, maybe, you were attracted to the darkness, but never succumbed to it. Sometimes I think you died a virgin having never tasted alcohol. That’s silly, isn’t it? I always flirt with the extremes. Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like to have a really prominent scar.
A boy I know on campus has one across his cheek. Whenever anyone asks about it, he recites the monologue from The Princess Bride. It’s very strange. But I often think that life would be vastly different if we could see each other’s scars. I think my arms would be torn to shreds. I think my sister would have a gash just near her spine. Andrea under her chest.. And what if someone asked?
“I destroy myself.”
“I carry the weight of my entire family”.
“My heart is too big”.
I’m being silly aren’t I? I guess I realize most people know exactly what’s wrong with everyone around them. Our society is bound by finding our neighbor’s indiscretions. Maybe we’re all just as unfeeling as I am. Selfish. I think we’re selfish and unwilling to change.
I can’t fix this, can I? I can’t beak myself of this silliness anymore than Tate Langdon. I keep killing the new tenants, Hannah. I keep ruining everything. So I need you to help me. Just this one time. I’m hurt and in needing of some assistance. I don’t know where you are anymore. I probably wouldn’t recognize you if I saw you now. But just. Help me. Just this once, come find me. Because I need something to believe in. And, as always, I don’t think I’ll ever stop believing in you.
Stay strong. Please stay strong.
Lindsay
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December/28/2011
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