Simone writes a letter to Frank, never to be posted. Based on a true story...
I am what I am. I am obsessed with hurting myself. I am obsessed with self destruction. I am obsessed with you.
People see beauty in different ways; some may stare out over a breathtaking canyon and look at the sun as it sinks slowly into the ground on a warm summer’s evening whilst others could gaze up at a magnificent, snowy mountain and watch the sun rise into the light blue sky on a chilly winter morning to see beauty. I see you. Only you.
I don’t remember the exact date that we met, but I know that it was early spring two years ago when we were put in the same maths class. As the newborn lambs danced around the grassy field, the flowers blossomed with bright colours and the birds sang loudly into the wind, my mind was preoccupied with the thought of your beauty and charisma. We became good friends exceptionally quickly. I’d never met anyone like you; they way you looked, talked, moved...everything about you intrigued me. This eventually led to my downfall.
I sat on the old, wooden bench in my back garden casually puffing on a cigarette one bitter, cold November morning as I thought of the day ahead of me. The wind bit ferociously at my exposed face and the dampness seeped through my thin pyjama bottoms and attacked my already cold skin. I sighed heavily as I took my last draw and lazily flicked the butt away. It bounced off the concrete slabs and a soft sizzling noise was produced before the wetness of the ground took it into its grasp. I stayed seated for a while, and nonchalantly fiddled with my lighter. I watched the flame carefully as I began to flick it on and off and as a sudden gust of wind eradicated it, I steered my eyes away and looked up at my house. The remainder of the previous week’s surprise snowfall could still be seen lingering on the red roof and the pipe sticking out started producing steam indicating that my mother was awake and had turned the heating on. I breathed in heavily and pulled myself up off the bench and slowly made my way into my conservatory, slamming the door behind me and causing the whole room to shudder with the force, and upstairs to my room. I went through my usual routine in order to get ready for another monotonous day at school; the only good thing about the day being fourth period maths when I would eventually get to see you. Although it didn’t seem like much, the prospect of being in your presence made everything I had to endure completely worth it. This had been the case for months.
I was right. That day in maths was one of the fondest memories I have of you. The teacher was off and had failed to arrange cover so the whole class was a riot. You and I laughed, we talked, and we even found time to attempt several questions in the midst of our banter, before breaking out in a fit of giggles once we realised that all our answers were wrong. It was a magical time.
I had never felt emotion for someone like I did for you. No one like you had ever paid a blind bit of notice towards me. I only had a few close friends. In all honesty I was quite an outcast when it came to school. Very few people spoke to me and when they did it was usually comments filled with hatred and torment. Although you were deemed as ‘popular’ within the school society you never failed to be nice to me, and I appreciated you so much for this. You made me feel like I was on the top of the world; no one could bring me down when I was with you.
Our friendship didn’t just stay within the boundaries of school; texting you became a big part of my life. We talked about anything and everything all day, every day. I told you about my struggles with self harm, issues with food and my family problems. I also shared with you my life’s aspirations from having a family to becoming a successful adult and you did the same. You knew everything about me, and I knew everything about you. It was great. I had never had someone I could be so open with. On many occasions you would phone me at night and we would spend up to two hours talking and laughing about anything that came into our heads.
We would often meet up as well. Proper outings to the cinema or the zoo never occurred, but walking round the shopping centre for hours and talking as we sipped a coffee or hanging out at each other’s houses baking cakes or watching movies was as magical to me as any expensive trip. I saw you as one of my closest friends. But I also saw you as a lot more than that. As clichéd as it sounded, I was slowly falling in love with you and day by day, my love would grow stronger.
People say that love is often confused with lust...but I know what I felt. Lust is solely based on desire and infatuation whereas love, love is the feeling of acceptance, the evident friendship that runs deep within each other’s heart and also trust, trust is extremely important where love is concerned. Loving you made me feel more alive than I had ever felt before.
Love is also deadly. I found this out the hard way. Through the opposite of love; unrequited love.
I finally admitted to you how I felt one Friday night in mid-January. It was a typical Friday night; my friend and I had hurried home after school, discussing our plans for the oncoming night as we walked and decided on meeting places and times. It was nothing special – we’d go out, meet some friends and find someone that was of legal age to buy us alcohol before we blew our week’s allowance and got extremely drunk. This all went to plan - As the clock struck nine that night, I was staggering around on the dark streets with my friends, heavily intoxicated and happily slurring songs that I knew none of the words to. There were a lot of people out that night. People that I had never met before, people that I wouldn’t usually dare talk to if I was sober. As I slowly swigged from the cool glass neck of a juice bottle - with more vodka than juice in it - all my inhibitions seemed to vanish. I had thought this was a good thing until that point in time. I remember it so vividly; receiving a casual text from you and deciding that it would be a brilliant idea to tell you exactly how I felt about you. Inevitably you didn’t feel the same.
The night eventually fell into the early hours of the next morning and I remember stumbling my way home through the thick forest that border lined two districts of the town. It must have been one of the coldest nights of the year, that night. I shivered greatly and as the cold tried to devour me in its bitterness, I wrapped my arms around myself in an attempt to stay warmer. I could only see a few feet in front of me even with the aid of the moonlight, and on several occasions I was walking through the trees in complete darkness. The only sound I could hear were my own footsteps as they crunched through the dead leaves and branches that the trees had discarded along with my muffled sobs as I exceedingly tried to stop the tears from rolling down my flushed cheeks. Although I was crying, I felt nothing. Maybe I was too cold to feel even emotion. Or maybe I was too broken. Sitting in my room that night, I slowly dragged the cool metal of a razor blade over my skin and wrote your name into my arm, a permanent reminder of you.
I opened my eyes groggily the next morning, a wave of nausea crashing through me as I remembered the events of the previous night along with the combined sickness due to the alcohol that was still present in my system. My arm was stuck to the bed sheet, a mass of congealed blood surrounding the thick lacerations that had been so brutally carved in. I recall texting you, and apologising like I had never apologised before. The fear of losing you as a friend crept over me and I dashed to the bathroom and threw up everywhere. Returning to my room several minutes later feeling exceedingly worse I saw that I had a text from you. You explained that you didn’t hate me, and nothing I could ever do would make you hate me. Your forgiveness meant everything to me.
For months after that we continued to grow stronger as friends. Every night you would tell me that you loved me before I went to bed, and I would tell the same to you. The only difference was I still loved you as more than a friend. We still talked about everything. Marriage, babies, the future. Sometimes hearing you talk about those things would rip me apart, not because of what they consisted of, but because I wanted to be a part of them.
It was harder when we met up. Lying on my cosy bed one day, my head was resting on your chest and my arms were wrapped tightly around you. I closed my eyes and listened to the steady beat of your heart as you breathed quietly and fiddled with my hair. I could feel my eyes stinging as the tears appeared behind them and I did all in my power to stop them. I couldn’t explain to you my reason for crying; the fact that I would have given everything in my possession to lie like that for a night with you, I would of travelled to the ends of the earth just to plant a kiss on your soft lips, I would have committed any crime just to get lost as I stared into your wondrous eyes. In a few words, I would have done anything just to be with you. We remained as we were; two friends hugging.
Loving you was, and still is the biggest tragedy of my life. I feel pain every day, a pain that I cannot control. People say that I’ll get over you. I don’t think I will. I am stuck in a vicious circle that I can’t break free from. I can only hope that one day, you will let me show you how much you truly mean to me. I can only hope that one day you will let me kiss you, touch you, taste you and hold you. I can only hope that one day, you’ll be mine. Lastly, I can only hope that one day you’ll turn to me, as I have done to you, and whisper those three small words along with an occasional ‘Baby, you’re beautiful,’
I am what I am. I have hurt myself. I live my life through self destruction. All because of you.