30 Days Of Reflection - My Reflection In The Mirror

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

Hi there reflection,

You’ve been, along with my shadow, my constant companion for 21 years now. When I was small, I thought you were me in another world. Sometimes I still wish you were. When I reached adolescence, you were my worst enemy - every time I saw you I saw the bushy eyebrows, the crooked, bumpy nose thanks to that bitch who kicked me in it, the large moles. I struggled to find things I liked about you, but couldn’t.

When I first used you when plucking my eyebrows, I went drastically overboard and wound up with pencil-thin lines where there was anything at all. It took several years for me to take tweezers to my brows again - after that I simply used a razor, to shape, then eventually to shave entirely off and when I did that, when I looked in the mirror before drawing them on, I resembled an alien. Now I alternate depending on how lazy I am. At least I have eyebrows again and can go out sans makeup without odd looks.

When I was younger, I’d look at you, glare at my small chest, and pray for larger breasts. I thought I wasn’t anything without an hourglass figure. Now I look at them and think to myself ‘many guys and girls alike have enjoyed these with no complaint. They’re sensitive, they’re decorated with scars and in due time, with piercings, and they’re awesome’. It took me years to get here, but I finally did.

For a brief time, I hated my jawline. Now I don’t give a crap. As long as I keep on my pills my weight doesn’t do anything funky and leave me with an extra chin, and that’s all I ask of it. I no longer fantasize about getting plastic surgery to have a perfect jaw.

You’ve seen many permutations of my hair, you’ve seen the addition of scars and metal and the ever-changing cosmetic routine. You’ve seen me corsetted in silk and comfy in flannel. You no longer seem to judge me. You’re damn perfect for me, and I’m damn perfect for me. You’re beautiful, and don’t you dare fucking forget it.

30 Days Of Letters - Someone I Want To Tell Everything, But I'm Afraid To

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

Does it count if they’re deceased but they’re the one person who I’ve ever known that I can think of offhand that I would have feared telling about who I am and have become since they knew me? Everyone I can think of that I want to talk to that lives accepts and loves me for who I am, after all. And most of those deceased wouldn’t care too much. But my grandfather would.

Dear Grandpa,

You had great expectations of me. I was going to grow up, stop wearing the black makeup and the funny clothes, graduate high school and go to university, and become a journalist. Or a lawyer. Or something like that. You were very against homosexuality and the NDP. I never thought nor wished to ask you what you thought of abortion. I know you were pro-womens rights, but when my mom was pregnant with my half-sister she had to live in a home for unwed mothers and was unable to keep her after the birth.

The year that she didn’t get honours, you took her certificate off the wall and didn’t put it up until she got honours the next year.

I know you adored me, that I was the apple of your eye. I doubt I would be now. I’m very much what you never wanted. I haven’t grown out of the black makeup and the funny clothes, although I cannot be buggered to put them on when I’m lazing around or not going anywhere special. I’m VERY openly queer. I support the NDP with a sprinkling of Liberal, an unplanned pregnancy that I don’t feel capable of supporting will be aborted, and if I’m unwed I sure as hell won’t be staying in a home. Are there even specific homes for unwed mothers anymore? I’m really not sure.

Not only did I not get honours once in high school, but I barely scraped through grade ten and dropped out of grade eleven. I scrapped journalism on the level I wanted, am only now looking at finishing my diploma, and I’m looking at sex education as a career. I drink, perhaps too much, and smoke, and occasionally enjoy marijuana and salvia. Rather like my mothers ‘dirty hippy’ half-brother.

I’m also a LaVeyan Satanist, which Mom doesn’t understand and you definitely wouldn’t. It has nothing to do with sacrificing virgins, babies, and goats, Grandpa. It just fits with my ideals and my lifestyle and I love it.

None of this is something you would accept. Never mind the time I had a crush on a skinhead. In my defense, I was young, stupid, and he bought me smokes and loved the same bands as me. But he was massively fucked up, and I look back and wonder what the hell I saw in him. You would have hated him. You would have loved Lad. Lad would have listened to your war stories, and played cards, and treated me well. You probably would have demanded to know why when I ended it.

At least you would have understood why - You and Grandma loved each other to the end of your days. I trust that you would have supported me not staying with someone I wasn’t in love with anymore.

I love and miss you Grandpa, but were you alive, I’d be terrified to tell you anything about my life.

30 Days Of Letters - Someone Who Changed My Life

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

Dear Junior High Teachers,

Yes, all of you. You changed my life. You saw that I was smart, if awkward, and shy, and prone to emotional fits. You didn’t treat me any different from any students academically, and expected the best out of all of us, but one of you bent the rules in gym to allow for the fact that sports and I were an ill match, especially if I had to be remotely coordinated.

You were the realest friends I had in junior high, the ones that didn’t treat me like crap. I could talk politics with you. One of you, my badass goth science teacher, was my first conscious exposure to goth and I was hooked on it.

I don’t think any of you really ever found out how hellish my home life was in the last year and a half of my junior high years. I wish you had. I really do.

Thank you, ALL OF YOU, for being such a goddamn important part of my growing years.

30 Days Of Letters - The Friendliest Person I Knew For A Day

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

Dear Son Of One Of My Dad’s Friends,

I seem to remember you guys were ostensibly there to talk moving shit with my dad. I wouldn’t have even met you, but I’d come down with the most wretched cold I’d had at that point since my first bout with pneumonia. I’d been cooped up, with a sore throat and a bad cough, packing boxes like it was going out of style because taking a break wasn’t an option.

Until our dads fucked off and left us to hang out. You were pretty nice, really. I don’t know how old you were, but I was an awkward fourteen year old who felt wretched and was terminally shy at the best of times.

You gave me halls and made me laugh. Most welcome when I felt so horrible.

I wonder what you’re doing now, seven years on. I hope you’re doing well, whatever you’re up to. Thanks for keeping me sane that one day so long ago.

30 Days Of Letters - The Last Person I Made A Pinky Promise To

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

Dear...Someone...

I don’t remember who you were. I sure as hell hope it was something worth a pinky promise. I better not have promised to always give you my last beer.

I’m sorry this is so short, but I seriously don’t remember who you were or what I promised.

30 Days Of Letters - The Person Who Is Going Through The Worst Of Times

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

Dear T,

I know things have been tough. I’m glad you have a job now, but I worry you’ll fuck this one up like all the rest. You have a history of lying and stealing to and from your employers, and you always quit in order to avoid notice. The last time you were searching for a job, you lied and told them I was your former manager. I refused to answer the phone, by the way. I wasn’t going to be part of that fraud, close friend or not.

T, you need to stop this bullshit if you want to get your head above water. For the sake of your daughter, my goddaughter. She deserves to have a mommy who doesn’t risk arrest for stealing. Who doesn’t risk a lawsuit. If she loses you she’ll have neither a father nor a mother during her most important years, and I’m currently ill equipped to take her, even if I am her crazy auntie who loves her to bitties.

Much though I wish it could happen, chances are no matter what Hunter will continue bouncing around to avoid detection and therefore avoid supporting the two of you. You need to be strong and have integrity. If you work that, in due time I swear you’ll be able to support the two of you. The budget will be tight, but you can do it.

Please help yourself. I don’t know if I can do anything.

30 Days Of Letters - The Person Who Gave Me My Favourite Memory

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

Dear D,

How about A LOT of favourite memories? Like running down streets in our costumes Halloween 06, freezing but having fun?

“Swallow, Damon, swallow!” “The phaaaaantom of the opera is there...Inside your pants”. We have made countless priceless memories. You’re my fuckin’ brother, who cares about the lack of any biological connection, we have the same humour and even look similar. People think we’re siblings without even knowing us.

I’m Mary Fucking Poppins, yeah? And in high school we were such goofs. You were always my skipping buddy, no matter what the class or weather. Once we became friends, we were and are inseparable. You cannot get the Betha without the Damon. Two-fer-one deal. We’ve seen each other through bad boyfriends and STD/pregnancy tests, negated friend drama, and somehow you’re the only person I have never had a fight with in our group.

Remember last year, when I got so hammered on your birthday that I could barely get my corset done up, had a smoke outside in very little clothing in -40, and fell asleep on Dan?

Remember when we used to shoplift? And we got pretty good at it until B was caught when I was with her and that scared me off of it. The one time that we went with E to the mall and when we couldn’t find her were petrified that she’d gotten picked up for our lifting, that was harrowing.

There’s so many more memories. You’re awesome, dude.

30 Days Of Letters - Someone I Want To Give A Second Chance

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

The one thing that’s been nagging at me with this one is that I don’t give second chances very often at all. When I decide that something’s over, it’s over. Done with. Finite. See ya in hell, and not a moment sooner. It takes a long time to get to that point usually if I do the ending, as I have apparently boundless patience for bullshit, but I’ve given second chances and regretted it. So I don’t. So who the fuck would I want to? Then I thought about it for a while longer, and then I realized - I don’t have to know whoever it is. It doesn’t even have to be a person, really, it could be a group of people. So here goes.

Dear Canadian Liberal Party,

When I was a youth with wild illusions of leftist politics, I swore that I would only vote NDP. Then I realized that I’m not terribly confident in Jack Layton. Mind you, until relatively recently your leaders didn’t inspire much confidence in me either. My only memories of Jean Chretien are of his last year or two, when I finally started to give a shit. Paul Martin didn’t appeal to me whatsoever, and besides, I knew he was just a placeholder until an election. So before I could vote I was ardently supporting the NDP, because I didn’t like your lot and I considered Stephen Harper to be a cretin. Still do.

The NDP platform rings true to me, this is true. If an election was called RIGHT NOW I’d probably still vote for them. I’m not overly fond of Layton still, but I like the party as a whole.

However, Michael Ignatieff - I think you’ve grown on me. You were held back by your straightlaced speeches and stiff, formal, academic wording last election. But you’ve loosened up. You’ve shown you can connect with Canadians. And I like that. I like a leader I could see inviting down for a barbecue. I do admittedly have little issue with the Liberal platform, some things I don’t see perfectly eye-to-eye on but the important stuff matches up.

The fact that frankly, you are quite bangable, does not hurt. It doesn’t affect my political opinions at all, but it sure as fuck doesn’t hurt.

I’m not sure exactly where I’ll stand when the next election rolls around, although there’s a definite possibility of one this fall. I may still vote NDP. But, Mr. Ignatieff, you and your party deserve a second chance.

Let’s knock the Tories out.

30 Days Of Letters - Someone I Judged On First Impression

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

Dear G,

My friends think I ought to like you. That if nothing else, I should be your friend. Mind you, they also think I should date D despite me being in love with A.

I reluctantly added you on facebook. Didn't really want to talk, since my wrist was giving me serious hell, but better to get it over with. Within half an hour you had admitted to not liking and never reading Harry Potter and had attempted to school me on one of my favorite metal bands. Because, y'know, I couldn't possibly realize that Ripper, the former vocalist, had been in Judas. For fucks sake I only started dating Steven, one of their number one fans, when Ripper was still with them. I dated a fucking Iced Earth encyclopedia for three years, there's few bands I know more about.

You can talk the talk, but you fail at walking the walk.

Meeting you in person, I disliked you on sight before I even recognized you. Something about you makes my skin crawl. You are an ass on facebook, a vile, condescending ass.

I await my first impression being proved either right or wrong. I do not understand what my friends see in you.

30 Days Of Letters - The Person Who Broke My Heart The Hardest

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

About four years ago I fell hard for a guy from roleplaying. I felt harder for him than my boyfriend at the time. Around the same time that I realized I also loved Hunter (just in time for him to break my heart), he fell off the face of the Internet.

Dear Soda,

I still wonder why you have never come back. I have been over you for quite a while now, and I do not resent you at all for leaving, but I do miss you, and at the time, freshly dumped and fragile, your lack of presence was an added blow. I know at the times you had computer issues, through one of our mutual friends, but I held out hope that you'd come back.

Needless to say, you never did. I wonder what you're doing now. Are you happy? I hope you are. I am.

Once, I wrote a poem about how I felt about you. I still have it somewhere. I cannot recall most of it. I think you would have liked it.

If you ever come back, I'm missing our Blaise/Colin role-play. We need to continue that someday.

30 Days Of Letters - Someone Who Pesters My Mind

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

And I manage to go back on myself and address this to the ex who hurt me the most.

Hunter:

I don't know why you still hold court in my mind on a regular basis. I certainly don't want you to, given how angry I am with you, how much so I have been for nearly three years now.

And yet at least once per week I think of you. I seethe, but nothing prevents thoughts of you from drifting into my mind unbidden. All of them are cross. How can they not be? You treated me, Trina, and your daughter, my goddaughter like shit. Because of your lack of responsibility that little girl likely doesn't remember what her father even looks like. Hopefully we never have to tell her what kind of muck-sucking pond scum you are.

I do not wish you the best, Hunter. I hope you learn the hard way, and far too late, just what you lost.

30 Days Of Letters - The Person I Wish I Could Be

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

Dear Potential,

To reach you, I must strive hard, I must dream big. You are a powerful woman, possessing more sexual confidence than I do, not about the back down from fighting for your passions. Well-educated and well-read, you’re a sex educator, or the owner of a sex-positive toy store, as well as a writer. You are who I wish I was now, and would have been had I not left school prematurely.

If you are in a relationship, it is happy, filled with good communication. If you aren’t, you are still an ethical slut, believing in preserving the safety of health and emotions. Perhaps you’re monogamous, perhaps you’re poly, perhaps you’re simply open. I don’t know what road is best for me yet. You’re still femme-androgyne queer, I know that. I cannot picture myself any other way.

You speak your mind, and you don’t lie or stretch the truth. You don’t fear what people think of you. You value it, but if they hate you, it won’t ruin your day. You don’t let your happiness hinge on anyone but yourself - you alone choose what makes you happy and what doesn’t. You continue to experiment with that which catches your mind.

You’ve continued with the body modifications. You’ve finally managed to balance your darkness with your light. You’re still a LaVeyan Satanist, the path still matching your views of the world. However, you also still dabble in Dark Neopaganism, and offer up your love to the Goddess. After all, it is your roots, and you don’t believe in denying them.

If you have managed to kick smoking to the curb, congratulations, but it’s no big deal if you haven’t. I know I couldn’t do it now. Maybe you’ve tried more beyond weed and salvia, maybe you haven’t. How can I really predict that? It relies so heavily on so much.

Whoever you become, you’re stronger than present day...

30 Days Of Letters - Someone I Knew In Childhood

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

One of my first crushes. It seems like forever ago, and I suppose it has been a decade and a half, but given that that's such a large fraction of my life, it still seems like yesterday at times.

Dear Michael,

I don’t remember when you moved into the townhouses, but I remember when you moved out. You were my first crush, really, and if we count childhood ‘boyfriends’ in the SO count, my first boyfriend as well.

Back then, despite how teased I was at school, at home I was a social butterfly, biking with you and all the other kids around our neighborhood. You were two years older than me, something I considered quite astounding, and perhaps this played into my crush. We’d alternate between antagonizing each other and being nigh inseparable. As I pretended to be Queen Of The Power Rangers, you pretended to be my King, and played along quite well.

I remember the time that the other girls and I decided that in order for there to be a King and Queen, there must be a wedding, but of course, at that age you at least were convinced of the existence of cooties. So they held you down so I could kiss you. I remember the time that I was so angry at you that I chased you around with my foam bat, and the time you watched one of the older kids toss one of my toys up onto a roof and I begged you and anyone else who would listen to get it down but nobody would.

I remember when you outgrew me. When it became simple antagonization, and I didn’t know what I’d done wrong but instead of riding with me and defending ‘our’ courtyard against ‘interlopers’ from the others, you’d ride with your friends and tease me, not the playful sort, but the mean sort. I was crushed.

A few years later I saw you at the mall. You’d wound up ‘gangsta’. And I had started to embrace my darkness.

Perhaps it’s good you abdicated, King of the Power Rangers. For this Queen became far too different for the likes of you.

30 Days Of Letters - Someone In Another Country

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

Dear S,

It’s been a few years now. I haven’t seen you online, mind you, my old MSN got hacked and I hadn’t talked to you in a while so I couldn’t re-get your address.

I miss you quite a bit. I remember sitting up late enjoying that you were just starting your day. I remember the little jokes, and the long discussions of those we liked, and the time you scanned in your book that you’d decorated that included how awesome I was.

I know the likelihood of me ever talking to you again is slim, but you were, are, awesome, and I hope you’re doing well for yourself, whatever you’re doing.

30 Days Of Letters - The Person I Miss The Most

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

In high school the girl this letter is to was one of my closest friends. These days, she's much different, much changed, and I loathe her. But back then...I miss that her.

I find it rather strange that a lot of those I write these to I highly dislike. The ‘Her’ in this story shares her first initial with one of my former partners addressed in that letter, so I opted for her preferred gender pronoun instead, not wanting to create confusion.

Dear E,

I don’t know if I miss you or who you used to be. You were one of the first people I met in grade ten, and my first crush at Vic. We shared three classes, found ourselves sitting next to each other in English, and were friends before we knew it. Despite your vast amount of surface innocence, my raunchy, inappropriate personality and humour didn’t drive you away at all. We were both bookworm anime dorks, and for some reason, you found me funny.

And I found you funny. And stunning, but I knew perfectly well that you didn’t swing that way at that time. Personally, I highly doubt you ever did, but after I dropped out, we faded out of touch. A friendship I once thought was fantastic turned into me saying happy birthday to you on yours on facebook and you not even acknowledging mine, only two days after yours. I didn’t know whether we’d simply grown apart or if I’d done something wrong somehow without even realizing it.

Then you hurt Her after being with Her for a long time. And by that point, Her was much closer to me than you, having been in the same forums, going to the same things, interested in the same stuff for years. I was livid. I would have never expected that crap of you. And all that I’d built you up to me in my idolizing, crushing mind crashed down into a shambles.

I simply don’t care about you now. I defriended you everywhere, not wanting to see your face and be dually reminded of both how you hurt someone dear to me and how you’d drawn away from me. By now, you are but a blip in my past.

But sometimes I look back and I miss chatting with you while running laps, laughing in math, and harassing one of your friends with lipstick. I miss being able to talk to you about nearly anything, I miss your hugs. But unlike my former lovers who I wrote to, I cannot forgive you. You didn’t hurt me like they did, nor I you - you hurt someone I care about and have, to the best of my knowledge, shown no remorse over it.

I may miss you, but it is not the you that exists today - it is the honest, sincere, caring girl I once knew.

30 Days Of Letters - Someone I've Drifted Away From

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

A former friend of mine were friends for years. The last couple years of our friendship, we drifted significantly. I don't wish to reconnect at all, but she seemed the natural choice for this post.

Dear Ex-Friend:

While our friendship ultimately ended with a small bang, rather than a whimper, it had whimpered out for two years at that point. We both kept of the pretense of some kind of friendship; you for reasons I cannot fathom, me, because I was used to being used and knew nothing else from ‘friends’. I would like to say it started when you used me as a scapegoat when you ran away from home, but it probably started earlier.

Probably when you started giving a shit about what the popular kids thought. Never mind that, looking back, they liked me more than you. And that’s saying a lot, really, considering that I was the loser, the loner, the weirdo.

Remember the time, only a couple months after you tried running away, that you insisted we switch bikes in the ravine? And how your breaks didn’t work right and I had to ride into a clump of trees and bushes to avoid a ten foot drop into the creek? And how you, knowing I was pretty badly roughed up, still attempted to make me take both our bikes home - a half hour walk pushing two bikes. So that you could attempt to brown-nose to the popular kids.

That was probably the first time anyone other than my parents ever saw me yell out of anger. I remember the very words I said, pointing out that you said you were my best friend, but best friends didn’t treat each other like this. They agreed with me.

We walked home together, you chastised, me seething. I knew then that we were heading down a collision course, but even my outburst that proved there was a feisty girl under all the shy was not enough to gain me any real friends, and so I was left still with just you. You didn’t use me much after that, this is true, largely because you went to high school and moved to a different neighborhood, but we still talked regularly. I visited you a couple times, lying to my parents as they had disliked you and your influence on me for quite a while. I never did tell you about my suicide attempts.

In grade ten, when I lost my virginity, having nobody else to call in a panic when the fact we hadn’t used a condom hit me between the eyes, I called you. And you provided a wonderful tidbit of idiocy - you insisted that I could only get pregnant if I had an orgasm. Strangely enough, you’d already had to end two pregnancies at that point. I wonder if you ever got a clue. I did my best to tell you the facts, I doubt you listened.

At the end of grade ten, I had friends. Real friends. Friends who treated me like their equal, who didn’t use me. And you wouldn’t stop calling.

Finally, I got fed up. I didn’t call you, I didn’t feel like having to say anything directly to you. Instead, I changed my answering machine - to the breakup message of an eight year friendship. You left a scathing message in return, calling me the token ugly friend. I never took that to heart from you. Yes, I have issues with my confidence, but they are wholly from other influences - and I have, for six years now, been surrounded by people who tell me day in day out that I. Am. Beautiful.

I may not have had curves, or the attention from the boys we both knew, but I wasn’t the one with an ugly personality.

We may have drifted, but I am eternally glad for it.

30 Days Of Letters - Someone I Wish Could Forgive Me

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

This one is rather interesting in that those who I wish could forgive me don't know what I have done to wish so. They have not spoken to me in years. I still feel horrible though.

To They Who Remain Nameless:

I’m sorry I lied to you. I’m sorry you’ll never know that I did. I miss you. This isn’t much of a letter, but really, I don’t want to go into detail about this.

I’m sorry.

My lies were numerous, and worked deep into our groups fabric, into my very being. I wish I could tell you myself.

30 Days Of Letters - The Person I Hate The Most

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

Some of you will remember my April post about my sexual assault. This is for that fucker.

Dear Montana,

Fuck you very much. With a railroad spike. I hate you. No, more than that - what I feel for you is a seething, boiling deep-seated loathing. You, amongst so many, are the one person I wish a violent and unpleasant death upon. I will never forgive you for the sexual assault. Never. I will be hard-pressed to not let my rage loose should I ever see you now that I am strong enough to not crawl into a dark corner and cry for the bit of me that you killed.

You deserve nothing good in life, and that is that.

Go die in a fire.

30 Days Of Letters - Someone I Don't Talk To As Much As I'd Like To

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

My cousin is easily one of my favourite family members, yet for some reason we rarely talk.

Dear Julia,

I miss you so much, and yet I don’t talk to you anywhere near enough. I remember re-meeting you in 2005, fidgeting with nerves that I’d get off the bus for vacation and be confronted with someone that was my antithesis. Instead, I found myself with a cousin almost exactly like myself. I still think it was the marshmallows all those years ago; something in only the ones we ate that made us different from the pack.

Every time one of us plans on being anywhere near the other, those plans seem to fall through. Something goes wrong. I hate this fact, because it’s been five years since I last saw you and while we have each other on facebook, we rarely talk.

Why must the one person other than my mother in our family who gets my love of darker music be a province away?

30 Days Of Letters - Someone I Wish I Could Meet

When I read the first of Essin' Em's 30 Days Of Letters (Done before her by other bloggers whom I keep intending to read in length), I was intrigued. And now I'm giving it a go myself.

This doesn't go out to anyone in specific. This goes to an entire fucking forum. Yes, an entire forum.

Dear LSG,

Since January, posting amongst you has made me feel saner. I don’t post often, I go through days where I only lurk and some days I have a burst of posting. But I’ve always felt welcome. I can say what I need to. I can get the advice I need, sometimes I don’t take it, but I appreciate it nonetheless.

I found you when other places I used to frequent on the internet became less welcoming in my eyes, less pleasant, less home. I needed somewhere where I didn’t feel like any post I made was setting myself up for a flaming, where I wasn’t an anomaly. Where there were people who were like me, and people who weren’t who still accepted me for me.

And I found you. On Rav, of all things. Who would have thought I’d find my home on the internet on a knitting site? I didn’t. But I found that.

I check you every day unless I have no internet at all. Once, when struck with no internet, I craved LSG so badly I checked on my blackberry, despite the tiny screen and horrible scrolling. I love all of you, despite barely knowing any of you. I say things to you that barely anyone else ever hears. Without you all, I’d have spent most of the past few months with so much pent up inside eating away at me.

Thank you. All of you. For existing and being so wonderful.