FicWad

Hey readers!
I just want to let you know that I wrote this with the idea that both
Patrick and Sarah had been friends long before this letter.
Just to clear up any confusion.

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Patrick,

Here you will find the blatant truth. Here you will discover how I truly feel about myself and my life. Our friendship is real, and one that could not have been formed without effort and care from both sides. But I’m not who you think I am.

I’m not pretty. I’m not skinny. I have many friends who love me for who I am. I don’t love me for who I am. I like to read. I like to get good grades. I don’t always get good grades because I’m too lazy to do the work sometimes. I’m flirty, but that’s just how I act around guys, so it’s normal. I’ve never had a boyfriend, never been kissed. I read about girls who get swept away by guys unsuspectingly. I want to have something wrong with me. I want to cut myself, to drink, to do drugs, just so someone can save me. I make problems for myself, because I want problems. I shoot myself down, hoping that one day someone will come along and build me back up. I want you to notice me, to like me, to need me. Sometimes I think I’m not looking for a relationship, but for love; I’m too young for that. I live in the North Shore, so therefore I must have it easy; I must be either preppy or emo. I think people don’t know which category to put me in, because I’m neither. I like to look good (though I rarely think I do). I love music. Listening to it. It really feels like the only true expression of emotions. Writing doesn’t get across the pain, the hurt, the love. I wish I could pull off choppy, layered, multi-colored hair, chucks, skinny jeans and a Clandestine hoodie. I wish my eyeliner had the decency to stay on. I think I would look good with a cartilage and lip piercing. I would never get my lip pierced because I’m afraid of the pain. I would never get my lip pierced because my friends wouldn’t understand why I got it. But they really do love me. At least, the part of me I show them. Sometimes I think that this part of me – the part that begs to be held by you, the part that runs to music for acceptance, the part that is easily broken down by none other than myself – is all created in my mind for the simple desire of being different. Special. Unique.

I want a fairy tale relationship. One with cheating and drama that all seems to work out in the end because it is fate. Because they are right for each other. Because they complete each other. I want this love with a guy I can’t have. I’ve made him up. Not him, per say, but his personality. I know nothing more than the internet tells me; what concerts show me; what his voice proves to me. I invent everything, all of it. He suits my needs. He’s there, but always away, causing the drama that I crave. But he’s there. In my mind, in my thoughts, in my hopes and aspirations. We fit together, one for the other, always and forever. It doesn’t matter he’s seven years older than I. It doesn’t matter that this is all a figment of my imagination. It’s true and real and raw to the point where I call myself crazy for even thinking this. I know it’s not possible, I know it’s not even tangible, but I need it. I need you. I need to have two separate lives so I can run to one when the other is a mess.

And that’s what my life is, a mess. My two halves don’t accept each other. One side is crazy; the other is someone who I don’t necessarily want to be. And together, they form one person, one girl who can’t seem to get it right. Who can’t seem to find her place in the world. Who can’t let herself be truly happy because then, no one will come to save her. You won’t come to save her. One soul who doesn’t know what to do anymore but give up. One heart that can’t give up because she’s knows the sadness is all in her head. And one essence that can no longer try to separate reality from fiction. One me.

And I can’t be anything else. I can’t change for you. I want to, Lord knows I want to. I want to be the one to make your breath hitch, to make your fingers tremble, to make you wish you could never live without me. But I’m not that girl, I never was and I’ll never be. A friend is a friend, and you are a true friend, but a friend is not The One. I want to be The One. I need to be The One. But since I can’t be the one, since I know nothing else, I no longer exist. I don’t have the willpower nor the patience to wait any longer. In some ways, I only want to do this because I want you to rescue me. I want you to find me, think you lost me, and be miserable and upset that you didn’t do anything sooner, that you didn’t see the signs. And then I want to wake up and be with you. But I know that once I’m gone, any hope of us is diminished. Any hope of ‘we’. And with that, I pray my suffering is gone. I beg that I’m no longer torn between loving you and being sane, between wanting you and enjoying my life, between needing you and being myself. And I wish, for just one second you endure the pain I have gone through. Of knowing you can’t have something, but also knowing you have to live with it because there is no other option.

But then I want that pain to be gone, because I love you, and I would never try to hurt you. Because you deserve more than a girl who doesn’t know who she is. Because you are you, and that is enough to make anyone truly lucky to have experienced life alongside you. Because I’m not worth any pain or suffering or tears because I have not made an imprint on your life, or at least not a recognizable one.

And with this I leave you, I leave the world. And though I know you will never notice, that I was never significant enough to notice, I beg you don’t blame yourself. There is only one person responsible. The one person who brought this on herself. The one person who had no reason to be here and is taking it upon herself to leave. Me.

Don’t ever doubt that I will always love you,

Sarah