Author's Note: Parts of this were going to be in a longer, completely different story, but for some reason, that idea never came together, and this one kept poking at me. I started writing this when the first spoilers for NEXT CLASS came out (and before the episodes aired in Australia), so it's officially non-canon now.
Also, this should be obvious, but if you don't want to be spoiled for the new season of NEXT CLASS, this is your official SPOILER WARNING.
Thank you to bejeweled-cupcakes on Tumblr for being an eleventh-hour question-solver =)
I don't own Degrassi.
"When you walk away from me / You're further than another country"
Tift Merritt, "Another Country"
I don't know where to start.
I've never needed to talk to you more than I have in the past few days.
Strangely enough, I've also never NOT wanted to talk to you as much as I have in the past few days.
Weird, right?
I.
Dear
Hey Hunter,
I know you probably won't read this because you're still mad at me. But you and Frankie are the most important people in my life
Dear Hunter Hey Hunter
Dear Hunter
Mom tells me that you still won't let me visit, and I can't say I really blame you. I know you don't want to listen to me, and I know you probably don't believe this.
I saw how mad you were at me the night you found out I told Mom and Dad. If I were you, I might never forgive me. You trusted me, and I broke my promise to you.
But I told them because I love you.
Dear Hunter
I know you're still mad, but I want you to know, I love you. You and Frankie mean more to me than anything else. Even Mom and Dad. I should feel bad about writing that, but I don't.
Dear
I didn't mean to betray you. I didn't want to. I was just afraid and you needed help.
Hunter
I know you probably hate me, but I don't care.
I love you,
Miles
II.
SENT: Wed 1/19/2016 9:41 PM
To: ShayReneePowers14
Cc:
From: lovelylolita98
Subject: History project
Shay,
Here's my part.
Did you talk to Frankie about her part? I tried but she wasn't in class today. I texted her saying we needed it ASAP but she never responded back. I think she's avoiding me.
ooo
SENT: Wed 1/19/2016 10:02 PM
To: lovelylolita98
Cc:
From: ShayReneePowers14
Subject: RE: History project
I wasn't going to bother asking her. She's too busy running around holding "diversity mixers" to notice, so good for her. She can dig herself a bigger hole to fall into until she quits the team and apologizes for real, but I'm not holding my breath.
Her part isn't that complicated, so it shouldn't take us much time to handle it on our own.
Meet in media center during lunch?
ooo
SENT: Wed 1/19/2016 10:11 PM
To: ShayReneePowers14
Cc:
From: lovelylolita98
Subject: RE: History project
I know you guys are still in a fight, but with the whole thing with Hunter, do you think you could, you know, try to be a little easier on her? I mean, the whole thing sucks, and I hate that everyone's calling her a racist and that Northern Tech was offended, but is there any way we can put it aside and just try to get a history project done?
ooo
SENT: Wed 1/19/2016 11:39 PM
To: lovelylolita98
Cc:
From: ShayReneePowers14
Subject: New Topic
I thought a long time about NOT responding to your last email, because honestly, I'm sick of talking about this and I'm sick of having to repeat the same things over and over again.
I don't care how bad Frankie feels that people are calling her racist. I don't. She messed up, she hurt people, and she needs to OWN UP TO IT. She needs to say she's sorry and mean it, not make any more BS excuses.
And yeah, it sucks about her brother. That's probably a really scary, intense thing, and if I had a brother who was put in a mental hospital, I wouldn't know what to do. But I don't want her using it as an excuse for her behavior, because it's not.
She needs to own up to her privilege and face the music. It's not supposed to be easy. Her money can't get her out of this, for once.
And I'm not going to get into a whole big discussion about privilege, or micro-aggressions, or perpetuated racism and whether or not something is racist…I'm tired of talking to people about it. I'm just done. I want to get this project finished and move on to the next one, and figure out how to get the other teams to stop boycotting us so I don't lose an entire season to Frankie's mistakes. I can't afford to lose a whole season, not if I want a scholarship, so this is on my mind literally all the time as it is.
I just want to be done with this project and MOVE ON to the next one.
III.
Date: February 8 2016
Dear Parent or Guardian of Frankie Hollingsworth:
The purpose of this communication is to inform you that I am presently experiencing some problems with your child. I would greatly appreciate your cooperation in working with me in trying to take corrective measures to eliminate these problems.
The attitudes and habits listed below are important elements that are definitely essential in order to maintain stability within the classroom. Furthermore, they must be corrected in order for your child to develop his/her maximum potential.
Please observe the items below which represent the areas in which we're experiencing difficulties:
AREAS OF CONCERN
_Excessive talking _ Disturbs others
_X_ Lack of effort _ X_ Inattentive
_ Disrespectful to others _ Bad attitude
_X_ Excessive tardies _X_ Excessive absences
_X_ Not prepared for class _X_ Does not complete work on time
_X_ Incomplete assignments _X_ Missing assignments
_ X_Poor test scores _ X_ Dramatic decrease in class performance
_ Excessive detentions _X_ Is failing at least one class at this time
If you have any questions, you may contact me at the school administration office at (647)885-5558.
Sincerely,
Jackie Bates, Director
Student Counseling Center
Degrassi Community High School
IV.
Since you won't answer any of my texts and have decided to completely ignore me in class, I had to resort to the old-fashioned method of writing you a letter and sticking it someplace where you can't pretend to ignore it.
Dude, this whole Hunter thing freaks me out, too. I know you're scared and worried about him, but I get it. You've been my best friend my whole life. If anyone knows what Hunter is like and knows how you're feeling more than anyone right now, it's me.
So don't just blow me off like you always do. It's getting old, and I'll still be here waiting for you when you want to talk about it, because I ALWAYS am.
At the very least, if you won't talk to me, talk to Frankie. I haven't talked to her since the night of the Snow Ball, but I've seen her around the halls, and she looks miserable. Even without Hunter, you're still her brother, so help her, okay?
WC
I don't know if this is even going to help you or me, or if it's just completely useless. Or maybe I'm just doing what Jonah says – being a drama queen because I'm addicted to being sad.
It's crazy someone could say that, right? Like anyone would choose to be sad all the time. He said that to me at the beginning of the year, right after a fight with Shay and Lola. I didn't want to make up with them, and I didn't want new friends. Dad left and Winston just broke up with me, and it felt like everyone expected me to be the same Frankie I've always been. Except I couldn't be her, and I didn't want to be her, and nobody seemed to realize or care I couldn't do it anymore.
I don't know what's wrong with me. I've gone from feeling like my life was normal and I was on top of all of my shit to feeling like everything's falling apart and all of my energy's somehow been sucked out of me. Even when something happens that I should feel happy about, I barely feel anything. I don't care enough to try to be happy. I don't even care enough to care that I don't care. My brain is trapped in a fog, and I'm just floating around.
These days, I don't want to get out of bed. Like, ever. In the mornings I don't want to get up and go to school, then as soon as I get home I don't want to be there, either. My bed's like a black hole, always sucking me in. I usually just come straight home and crash. Mom asked me how I could nap after school and still sleep at night, but she doesn't get that I'm ALWAYS tired. I could use a nice coma right about now. Go to sleep, be unconscious for months, not have to deal with anything or be responsible.
Everyone wants me to be just like the old Frankie, all chipper and sunshiney. And before, I felt lost and pissed off and confused and frustrated and lonely. Now I want to feel something other than this waste of NOTHING, just walking through my days like sludge.
It's like I forgot how to be anything but empty.
V.
SENT: Sun 2/13/2016 2:08 PM
To: ohmyfrankenstein
Cc:
From: lovelylolita98
Subject: I Miss My Best Friend =(
Dear Frankie,
I miss you. This Northern Tech stuff got so out of hand, and I feel sooooo bad that it's happening to you. If I could, I'd make it go away and give you your spot back on the team.
I'm sorry about your brother, and I'm sorry that Shay's not talking to you and made you quit the team. I don't know what I can say to you that might make anything less hard, but I want to. Do you want to come over next weekend? It can be just the two of us. Gossip Girl on Netflix, lots of chocolate, and talking about whatever you want. Or we could get mani-pedis, or go shopping, or pretty much whatever you want. I don't care, I just miss you.
Love you girl,
Lola
VI.
Hunter,
I know I went about it the wrong way, going behind your back like that to Mom, but I literally had no idea what else to do. Something was really wrong, and I was so scared, and I didn't want to hurt you but I'd rather see you hurt than dead.
I love you so much, you have no idea. You and Frankie mean more to me than anything in the world. I may not understand what you're feeling, but that doesn't mean I don't love you. Okay?
I feel like anything I say is only going to make you more angry. I feel like no matter what, you're just going to make me the bad guy, first because I was leaving you for boarding school and again because I told Mom about the gun. But even if you're mad at me, I'm going to say it anyway: You need help. Real professional help. Whatever is going on with you is too big for you and me to handle. It's too big for Mom and Dad to deal with. It's so beyond what we can handle, and it put a lot of people in danger, and it made me afraid that I'd lose you, so I told Mom. I thought if I loved you enough, I could make things better and save you, but I can't, this is too big, too much to fix. I can't fix it, and I hate that I can't. I want to so badly, please believe me, but I can't.
Don't you want to feel okay? Don't you want to stop feeling so angry that the only thing to do is hurt someone, or yourself?
Maybe you'll hate me forever. Maybe you'll never forgive me. But that's a risk I'm willing to take. It's better than what could happen otherwise.
Don't listen to what's in your head. Don't let it win.
And please forgive me for trying.
Love,
Miles
VII.
Miles Hollingsworth
Creative Writing I – Mr. DeLuna
February 19 2016
Freewrite Prompt: Fear
I heard somewhere that we dream every night, we just don't remember most of them. I also heard that our dreams last only a couple of seconds, even the ones that feel like they go on forever.
I don't remember any of my dreams, even nightmares. I never believed in the monster under the bed. I can watch horror movies and not flinch when the ghost inevitably kills the person stupid enough to wander into a haunted house in the middle of the woods on Halloween night. I'm not afraid of heights, spiders, or public speaking. I don't believe in demons and ghosts, or the Loch Ness Monster.
Maybe I just don't dream at all. Maybe I'm just a freak of science and nature.
My brother used to get really bad dreams when he was little. Like, the kind of bad when he'd start screaming in the middle of the night and wake the entire house. He used to wake up crying about how he had a dream he stopped breathing in his sleep and died, and he was scared to go back to bed. It really freaked my mom out, but my dad just told Hunter he was being ridiculous. He wouldn't die in his sleep, and he needed to go back to bed and be grown-up about it.
My parents were never the type to let their kids crawl in with them after a nightmare, or sleep in the bed with them. It never occurred to any of us that they'd let us; they kept their door closed at night, and once it was bedtime, we weren't allowed to go downstairs.
I can't remember how old we were when the nightmares stopped, but they did eventually, and I haven't heard my brother wake up screaming in a long time. He was the only one of us who ever had fears like that. He and my sister are twins, and I always thought it was weird that he had those kinds of thoughts and she didn't. I asked her once, and she said she had some strange dreams, but never the I'm-going-to-die variety.
I used to think grown-ups didn't dream at all. I definitely didn't think they ever had nightmares, because I thought being a grown-up meant you weren't afraid of anything. My dad has never seemed afraid. My whole life, he was like a skyscraper, solid like steel and tall enough to reach up and touch the sky. He was the biggest thing in my sight, and no matter where I went or what I did, I couldn't get out from under that shadow. It felt like he'd always be in my life, and even when I grew up he'd still be there, towering over me.
Now I know what my dad's afraid of, and it's not the Boogeyman. And I understand what I'm afraid of, because I see it whenever I look in the mirror.
I don't know how it all happened, me completely falling out of my life like I have, but it happened, and before I know it the months have just oozed by, and now I'm getting closer to the end of the school year and you're not home and I basically dropped out of all my friends' lives even though I see them literally every single day.
Instead, all I feel is this hole inside me, hurting and spreading like it's pressing against my lungs, pushing my insides around and making me feel like I can't be in my own body, and it hurts for no reason.
It's weird. When you first left, it hurt SO much. I cried all the time, so hard I almost made myself sick. Now I don't cry anymore, and missing you feels different. It's not sharp and raw, but it's like being smothered. I guess it's sunk in that you're not here, and I'm just getting numb to it.
VIII.
Franks,
I know we're not talking. But with everything going on with Hunter, you probably need someone to talk to, and I wanted to let you know, that person could be me. I know it's weird, but you were my friend way, way before you were my girlfriend (or my ex-girlfriend). And I know Hunter isn't exactly my BFF, but I've known him for as long as I've known you and Miles – meaning, forever. It's hard to deal with something like this. It feels so huge, like there aren't even words for it.
Anyway, even though it'll probably be weird, I wanted to you know you could still talk to me.
Winston
IX.
Miles Hollingsworth
Creative Writing I – Mr. DeLuna
March 9 2016
Freewrite Prompt: Fall
I have a scar on my elbow. You can't see it unless I point it out, and unless I tell people, they never know it's there. I got it when I was little, I don't remember how old. I was running on the patio outside, I tripped, and I tore the skin right off when I fell on the concrete.
I don't remember getting the scar, and I don't remember tripping and falling. I just know what my mom told me. But that mark has been there as long as I can remember, and even when I forget about it, it's still there.
I have two scars on my face that are more visible, and I do remember how I got those. The first I got from a fight with my brother. I think I was twelve or thirteen, and we were fighting over a video game controller. I don't know who started the fight, but it ended with me wrestling my brother to the ground, and just when I thought I'd won, he shoved me into the coffee table. My chin smacked against the sharp edge, and I had to get stitches to close it up. Ever since, there's been a small white scar on my jawline.
The other one is on my forehead, when I don't hide it under my hair. I got it a month ago outside Lola's Cantina, when I tripped and fell face-first on the concrete. More stitches, and a huge red cut across my face that took its sweet time fading away. My memories of getting that one are a little fuzzy, but I definitely remember waking up on the street later on while a paramedic was strapping me to a gurney, and the flash of the ambulance lights as they loaded me into the back.
The weird thing is, I can't remember the pain. I know it hurt when my face was introduced to the pavement, but I don't remember the actual feeling of it. And I know it must have hurt when I smacked into the coffee table or hurt my arm when I was a kid, but those are just stories, and the older I get, the more they feel like they happened to somebody else.
The moments I can remember pain aren't the ones that left scars on me. I don't have a scar from the night I saw my brother holding our dad's gun in his hand. I don't have one from the day he crashed his car on purpose, and I knew he needed help. I don't have a scar from the night he realized he'd been betrayed and that Mom & Dad knew everything, or the moment we drove away from the hospital and left him there behind locked doors.
I don't feel physical pain thinking about those moments - they make me feel sick and scared and small. They make me feel helpless, and I HATE feeling that way, because all it does is remind me there is absolutely NOTHING I can do about any of it. That's a hurt that's unbearable, and it doesn't go away with stitches and aspirin. It hurts like there's something running through my bones, like it's pushing against my skeleton and cutting into my heart and lungs and shredding every vein and artery like wet paper.
One thing I don't feel is like I did the right thing. Because even though I know my brother needed real help, I still feel like I betrayed him, and that he might never forgive me.
I'm mad I don't have scars from those moments. Anything that hurts as much as that ought to leave a mark.
X.
March 17, 2016
To the Parents/Guardians of Frankie Hollingsworth:
I wanted to inform you of your daughter's current academic status in my classroom. As of now, Frankie has an average of 63%, which puts her at a D average for this marking period. I have offered multiple offers for extra credit and make-up assignments, but she has not responded to any of my offers, and I am afraid I have no further choice except to fail her for this period.
I hope that both of you can join me for a teacher conference sometime in the coming weeks. Frankie doesn't appear to be failing my class due to lack of understanding; I had her in my class last term and she seemed to have no trouble with the material. But this period, she's been distracted and without her usual positive attitude. I have approached her to talk privately a few times, but she hasn't confided in me about what's been on her mind. I referred her to our school guidance counselor, Jackie Bates, but Ms. Bates has informed me that Frankie has not been in to see her.
I understand that we all go through hard times, and sometimes, it's difficult to care about things like quizzes and projects. But Frankie is a bright girl who has always performed well in my class, and it worries me to see these sudden changes in her. It's not just her academics that concern me, so much as her constant state of disinterest and unhappiness. I hope you can accept my offer and talk with me about these concerns, because your daughter is not just a good student, but a lovely person, with so much enthusiasm and liveliness.
Please feel free to contact me to set up a time to meet. I look forward to hearing from you in the near future.
Sincerely,
Susan Linne
Instructor, Mandarin I, II, and II Honors
Right after you left, I had mornings when I forgot you were gone. I'd hear Mom telling me to hurry up in the morning, and I'd think, "Hunter isn't even out of bed yet". Or I'd stop by your bedroom door to say goodnight and feel this weird shock in my stomach when you weren't sitting at your computer screen or playing video games on your bed. Anchorman would come on TV and I'd DVR it thinking we'd watch it together on the weekend. I'd order a pizza and forget not to order half black olives and green peppers, because you weren't sharing it with me. Then I'd eat those slices anyway, because I couldn't throw them out.
That doesn't happen so much anymore.
But it still finds new ways to bite me, knowing that you're not here. Like, I get a text and I still expect it to be you. I hear footsteps on the stairs and I forget you're not one of the people capable of making them. I stopped doing my homework at the bay window because it's where we always did homework, and whenever I sit there by myself I can't concentrate knowing there's this empty space next to me that's not supposed to be empty. And I keep getting mad at dumb things that never made me mad before – sunny days, canned sitcom laughter, doing things like putting on my eyeshadow or blow-drying my hair. It's like, why bother. It's so much stupid effort for nothing.
I wonder why I'm supposed to care about these things, why any of it matters. I don't want to find space for it in my life, even if I'm supposed to.
XI.
Winston,
Please, leave me alone right now. Your note was sweet, and I know you meant everything you said, because you're a good guy who cares a lot about me and my family. But I'm not sure what I think about anything right now, and I don't really want to talk about it with anyone. It's got nothing to do with you.
Frankie
XII.
Miles Hollingsworth
Creative Writing I – Mr. DeLuna
April 5 2016
Freewrite Prompt: Holiday
Here's me using the word "Holiday" in a sentence:
I think for today's free-write I am going to take a Holiday from doing this assignment, it is a complete waste of time and I would rather save trees.
XIII.
Frankie,
Since you're officially not speaking to me, I'm going to do your favorite thing – tell you what you don't want to hear and don't want to admit, this time in word format instead of face-to-face. You might have already thrown this out when you found it in your locker, but if you haven't, I'm going to give you the end of last night's conversation. Or at least, what would have been the end, before you got pissed and stormed out and wouldn't let me drive you home.
First, I have to say I'm sorry. I thought getting you to talk about your brother might help. I see now that I probably came off as a huge dick, and I should have backed off when you made it clear you didn't want to talk about him. I'm sorry I didn't listen. I was trying to help and it backfired. That's on me.
But here's the thing – look, I know the whole situation with Hunter has been hard on you. I'm not as close to my little brother as you guys are, but still, if the same thing that happened to Hunter happened to Jude, I don't know how I'd handle it. I'd probably be really angry and confused, just like you've been. I definitely wouldn't talk to people about it, because I know this kind of thing is something people really can't deal with. They don't know what to say, and you don't want them to get all fake-sympathetic to you. And you get mad that their petty dramas keep coming up, because you're dealing with this huge thing under the surface you can't talk about, and every day it hurts more until you eventually explode.
So I know how it feels when you can't talk to people about all the shit going on in your life. Believe me, I get it.
But there's a difference between being angry and just wallowing in self-pity, and as much as you hate hearing this, you've been doing the second. You keep acting like you don't have any choices, or like you have no one to talk about, and nobody understands what you're going through. But that's only true because you won't listen to anyone who tries.
You say you don't understand why he is the way he is. Guess what – I don't think he gets it, either. Why does anyone who has a mental illness feel like they do? It's not going to go away. And it's something you really can't understand, because it's not a physical pain like a broken leg. It's something in his head that you don't have and he does, and it makes the world a different place for him. He feels these really intense, really dark things you don't, and can't express these feelings and ideas in a way that people consider "normal". You don't act like him because you aren't wired the same. And it scares the shit out of you, because you've know your twin literally your entire life. How can you not know someone you've known your entire life?
I think the issue you're really having is why you stormed out on me in the first place – you don't want to admit Hunter is sick.
Let me just say, it sucks. It's awful to know someone you love is hurting, and you can't make it go away. It makes you feel so helpless and small, and yeah, really angry, because you feel so helpless and small.
If you don't want to talk to me about this, that's fine. I'm not going to force you. But throwing yourself a pity party for one isn't going to solve anything. It won't make your brother not-sick, and it won't make everything be normal again. I know this is eating you alive, and I really want to help. And if you won't accept help from me, maybe you'll accept it from somebody else. If there is anyone else you could talk to that might help you sort out how you feel, you should talk to that person. Or if you can't think of anyone, try talking to Hunter yourself. Go with your parents on the next visiting day.
If you still think that's too much, write him a letter. Write a bunch of them, if that helps. You don't even have to send them - they could just be for you. Sometimes it takes a while to figure out what you really want to say.
Or you can Option C and do both. Maybe talking to someone else could help you work up the courage to go see your brother in person, or figure out what you want to write down if you're not ready for that. Either way, doing any of those options is better than nothing, and definitely going to be more helpful to your brother than you shutting yourself away from the people who care about you and burying your head in the sand.
Look, I know all of this is a really, really scary thing for you to wrap your head around. And with your parents still separated and your older brother's drug problems and the whole mess with Northern Tech, you're getting hit with a lot all at once. I know you're on the fence about God, and don't worry, I'm not going to start preaching to you. But I do believe the old saying that He doesn't give us more than we can handle. If that weren't true, we would all curl up into a little ball and stay that way, and we wouldn't be much use to anyone.
But you can't just give up. You have to keep going. Especially because Hunter is going to need you when he comes home. I can promise you, the one thing that helps people more than anything when they're trying to change is knowing they have support. Things are weird now, but if they're ever going to get better, he needs to know that you still love him and will be there for him no matter what.
I know this probably sounds like a line some guy would use on you, and you probably think it's cheesy and stupid and useless. But I want you to know that I'm praying for your family. I know I've never formally met Hunter, but I want to, someday. I hope so. So for now, I pray that he feels less alone and that he gets the help he needs. I pray that he finds peace, and I pray the same thing for you, too.
Maybe you think that's a huge waste of time. Maybe you don't. It doesn't really matter, because either way, you and your brother (and basically your whole family) are in my prayers.
Just know that, as someone who cares about you very, very much, I'm here when you're ready to talk.
Jonah
The other night, I couldn't stop thinking about the summer we were six, and you told me you were afraid you'd stop breathing in your sleep. It's kind of morbidly funny now, but thinking about it, I wonder why you ever believed that in the first place. I mean, what makes a kid think that way?
You stopped sleeping for a while, and tried sleeping out in the hallway so if you died, we wouldn't forget about you. Mom and Dad told you to stop being silly and that nothing was wrong, but you still couldn't sleep. The only time you would was when you came into my room and slept in my bed. I remember a lot of nights that summer sleeping on top of the covers, the ceiling fan spinning around, and you made me promise that if you died in your sleep, I wouldn't forget about you after you were gone.
People always say "life goes on" like it's supposed to make you feel better. Because bad things keep happening, but no matter what, time doesn't stop, so someday you'll move past this. Shay & Lola used to say that to me a lot during the beginning of the school year – "life goes on". Life goes on when your dad moves out of the house. Life goes on when your boyfriend breaks up with you. Life goes on when you almost die in a fire, and when everyone on social media calls you a racist bitch. Life goes on when your older brother goes to counseling and tries to stay off drugs. It goes on when your twin is in a mental health hospital.
Really, most people don't mean it is a way to make me feel better. They're just looking for a nicer way to say "get over it".
XIV.
Miles Hollingsworth
Creative Writing I – Mr. DeLuna
April 14 2016
Freewrite Prompt: Speak
When I found out one of my closest friends was in therapy, she asked me if I thought she was crazy. I didn't – she's one of the most amazing people I've ever met, smart and caring and basically perfect. There's nothing wrong with her.
One thing that she told me has stayed with me ever since, and I've been thinking about it a lot these days. Her therapist told her that the word "crazy" is stigmatizing, and it only promotes the idea that mental illnesses are something to be ashamed of and hide from.
My parents have been telling everyone that my brother is "sick", and that he'll be back when he "gets better". Every time I hear them say that, I want to rip someone's head off. "Sick" is such a stupid, harmless, totally WRONG word to describe what my brother is. Saying he's "sick" makes it sound like he has the flu, not like he tried to hurt himself. "Sick" doesn't mean what they want it to mean; they can't pretend this away.
I love my brother even when he says he hates me, and I love him even though he's done things I don't and won't understand. I don't know what I'm supposed to do. How do you live with knowing someone you love is capable of doing horrible, scary things? How do you help someone who refuses to even speak to you? How do you reach out to someone who pushes you away?
I don't know what to do with that. I don't know if my brother will do something crazy someday, or if he'll hurt other people or ever feel like he can be normal, or if I can help him. Our family is cursed. It's just the way we are. God, I'm never having kids. Hopefully my brother and sister won't, either. Hopefully they'll know better than to keep making more defective members of this family. We're all set automatically to DESTROY EVERYTHING. It's not a coincidence we're all so messed up. I just want him to be okay but also I'm afraid he's going to blow his own brains out and I'm going to come into his room and find him dead and it'll be so fucked up WHY ARE WE SO FUCKED UP?
XV.
Dear Hunter,
Things have been tough lately. I'm trying to get through school and therapy and everything else, but I'm always thinking about you locked away. How the doctors are treating you, if you like any of them, or if you're getting help. Are you scared? I know I would be. Are you still angry all the time, or have those thoughts stopped a little? Do you feel any better at all?
Sometimes, when I'm feeling particularly full of average, boring teen angst and melodrama, I wonder how anybody can care about anything, or has the energy to get out of bed. Especially after days like the one I had with Esme last term, where I was THIS CLOSE to screwing everything up again.
It's exhausting, and sometimes I wonder how anybody else gets through their days. I wonder if anyone else feels like they're being crushed by this huge weight that gets heavier and heavier every second, if other people think like I do and walk around feeling like their guts are ripped out and they're bleeding everywhere and dragging their bloody insides behind them as they go to school or work or home, and everyone just nods and smiles to them and acts like everything's normal, like someone's blood and guts aren't hanging out of them and they're falling apart, but nobody really cares because they don't want to handle the blood and guts, they want to go along with their happy little lives and ignore the hurt and pain other people are in because it's too much, it's too intense, and nobody wants to deal with it.
Is this what it feels like for you, every day?
Miles
XVI.
Dear Hunter,
Mom says that you look better. When I asked her how, she couldn't really give me specifics, just that you looked better. Thanks, Mom, that super vague description does wonders. But whatever she meant, I hope she's right.
Not much has changed lately. Still seeing Dr. Margolis. He's not actually the crappiest. I think even you might like him (if you're not tired of shrinks by now). He knows how to talk without pushing or making you feel like you're a headcase, or making everything about Dad. Sometimes we don't even talk about Dad. Sometimes we just…talk, about stuff that seems so unimportant, until the session ends and Mom drives me home and I realize I feel like someone just took a weight off my shoulders, and I can breathe a little better. I don't know how he does it, but it's helping.
The last time I saw him, he asked me about what I was going to do over the holiday weekend, and we had this whole conversation about holidays and family vacations. He talked about taking his kids to the beach and I said we used to do that a lot, back when we were young. I remember, Frankie and I always went in the water, but you hated swimming – actually, you hated everything about the beach, and used to beg to stay home with Grandma. But Mom & Dad always made you come anyway.
Do you remember any of this? I didn't, until I started talking to Dr. Margolis. Then all of a sudden I started remembering other stuff from back then, like the boogey boards we kept in the garage and the porch with the sliding glass door that all of us – even Mom and Dad – walked right into at one point or the other. Remember when Blockbuster was still a thing, and Dad would take us to the only one on the island every few days to rent movies? And the mini golf course with the old claw machine in the lobby, and how we always begged Mom for dollars to play? She'd always say the game was rigged, but we wouldn't believe it. We kept trying. I think the only time we ever won anything was that time Frankie got that stuffed penguin, the one with that weird purple bow around its neck. It felt like the greatest accomplishment in our lives, even though it was just a junky stuffed animal that had probably been in that claw machine since before we were born. Why was it so important to all of us?
It wasn't until we started talking about it that I remembered the whole thing about you and the army men. You always brought a huge tub of those things to the beach, and while Frankie and I spent the whole time in the water you would sit with Mom and set up these huge battle scenes. They were really detailed, too. You knew every figure's name, rank, backstory, the whole thing. I remember, you were always buying more every year from that same little store, the only one on the island that sold everything. Every year we got to pick out something from their little toy section, and every year we got the same things – Frankie got some game, I'd get those little HotWheels cars, and you always got more army men. Mom always said you had too many, but Dad always let you get more.
I remember, you used to sit on the living room floor and set them up, and then when Mom kept stepping on them she made you set them up on that little table on the porch. And then you had too many to fit there, so Dad let you use the dining room table to set up these huge war scenes. You'd sit there for hours, making those. You were pretty young, maybe six or seven, but these scenes were always crazy-elaborate.
I always wanted to help you, but you never wanted my help. You had your own, ultra-specific Hunter way of setting things up, and you wouldn't let anybody else touch them, not even Mom or Frankie. Of course, that never stopped me from messing with you anyway, because I knew moving even one piece out of place would make you completely freak out. Mom was always getting on my case for messing with you, but back then, I wanted to play army men with my brother, and when you wouldn't let me I decided to ruin your fun.
Is it too late to apologize for being an eight-year-old asshole?
Scratch that – is it too late for being an asshole for fifteen years?
I love you and Frankie more than anything else in the world, and I failed you completely. There is no way I can ever be sorry enough for that.
Miles
XVII.
Hunter,
Just wait until you get back. I preordered the new Warsheild game, and by the time you come home, I'll be wiping the floor with you. You are going to be schooled in the art of warfare, n00b. Count on it.
Winston
PS – Frankie misses the shit out of you. You should write something to let her know you're alive. She's never been without her twin before. Without you, it's like she doesn't know which way is up.
XVIII.
Dear Hunter,
I got your address from your sister. She didn't want to give it to me at first, but I told her I wasn't still mad at you. I know there are a million and a half rumors going around about what really happened the night of the Snow Ball and where you've been since winter break ended, but I'm not interested in spreading any or listening to what those idiots have to say about you.
Not much has happened since you've been gone. My parents grounded me for a month for the trolling thing. No cell phone, no laptop, no gaming. It's kind of like being held hostage by the Army of Zorlov in the dungeon of Rohdour, but worse. And since Gamer Club is kaput, Baaz and Vijay and I don't have much reason to hang out together. We see each other in the halls, but we don't talk or eat lunch together anymore. A few times I've tried logging into the game in the media center, but Simpson must have blocked it after the PTA shut us down. The only thing that's really stayed the same is that I still spend my intramural time on the bench, since nobody wants me on their team (who would have thought being an outcast had its perks – I haven't broken a sweat once this term, and hopefully, it can stay that way).
Since I can't game, I've joined the LARP club here at school, and as soon as my parents un-ground me I can actually participate, instead of just going to the meetings once a week after school. I know you think LARPing is for people who don't have the skills to be a gamer, but with my controllers confiscated and my parents threatening to ground me forever if I don't follow every one of their rules, this is as close to video games as I can get.
(Plus, you know me. I love any chance to think of new cosplay outfits)
Baaz mostly hangs out with the guys from the TV Production club, and Vijay got a part in the spring musical, so he's spending most of his time with the drama kids. He's got a really small part with only a couple of lines, but he has a solo, and he's really happy about that. They're doing an original musical written by some Grade 11 girl I don't know, but the play sounds like it might not actually suck. It's supposed to be this post-apocalyptic romance between cyborgs who are members of opposing crime families. And the girl running it asked me for help with the costumes, because she heard I had a lot of experience making my own. I didn't even know she knew my name, or that I had my own sewing machine and knew how to make clothes. So now I'm helping design & create costumes for the musical, and it's shockingly not horrible. It's actually fun, considering that everything else I love to do is off-limits until my parents decide to unground me.
I promise I didn't just write this letter to tell you about boring stuff going on at Degrassi. I know none of that matters to you. I wanted to write you this letter because without gaming and people to talk to, I suddenly have a lot of free time. And without gaming or friends to hang out with, I can't stop myself from thinking about everything that happened the past few months. I've been trying to understand it all, and trying to figure out what I think and how I feel. And now that you're gone, it seems more important than ever to not just hide in a video game until these feelings go away.
I'm not exactly sure HOW to write them down because they're all jumbled up in my head, but I'm going to try my best to say them here. Because you were the only person at Degrassi who ever reached out to me and made me feel like I wasn't completely alone, and I'm going to do my best to do the same for you.
You know that I got made fun of practically all the time in middle school for liking video games. Not just by the girls, but most of the guys, too. They were worse than the girls, most of the time, because they were the ones who got in my face. Before I came to Degrassi and met you, I figured all guys who played video games were just like the ones at my old school – knuckle-dragging douchebags who called me a fake geek girl and told me I was just in this for attention, and got all butthurt when I beat them.
But then I met you, and you were nothing like that. You loved that I always challenged you. When I got a better score, you didn't hate me. When I beat your scrub ass to the ground in a dual – like I did many, many, many times – you didn't get mad at me. You just always promised to beat me next time (and usually lost =] )
What I'm trying to say is, you never treated me like a girl who played video games. You treated me like a gamer. Does that make sense?
What I mean is, you acted like you really saw me, and were okay with it. More than okay – you wanted to be friends with the real me. For the first time in my life, the things that people thought made me a loser made someone want to be my friend. You liked that I gamed, that I designed cosplay outfits in my spare time, that I loved comics and anime and all the things everyone made fun of me for. You were the first person to tell me that it didn't matter if other people thought we were weird. The people who make fun of us, they were the losers. We weren't going to apologize for being gamers and nerds and outcasts. We were going to be who we really were, and screw all the people who made up the stupid rules about what was cool and what wasn't, because none of that mattered in the real world.
I'm sitting in the caf as I write you this letter, and being here makes me think of all those afternoons when you and I would sit at that same table near the vending machine after school, waiting for our parents to pick us up. We always had our homework on the table, but spent more time making our Sour Patch Kids go to war with each other instead of working on French verb conjugations. I've tried eating Sour Patch Kids since you left, but it isn't the same. I just keep thinking about all those afternoons we spent stuck in this hellhole, waiting for our parents to come get us, and how doing stupid stuff like eating candy with you made things more bearable.
Did you know I was never happy at school until I came to Degrassi? It still sucked in the ways all schools suck when you're a girl who cares more about her cosplay gowns than prom dresses, but those Sour Patch wars made it all suck less. You made it suck less. And then we had Gamer Club, and it was amazing, and when it got shut down you fought for all of us. I admired you for speaking out and not being afraid of what people would think or say about you. You didn't back down just because some Neanderthal laughed at you. You made me want to start speaking up for myself.
You made me want to be more like you.
That's why you were so important to all of us – me, Baaz, and Vijay. From Day 1, we were all equals. You stood up for us in front of student counsel, you defended our right to game and do what we loved, you never gave up trying to help us, and you refused to stop just because people might make fun of us.
Nobody had ever done that before. Nobody ever spoke for us nerds; we were the people everyone else kicked around.
That's why we agreed to troll Maya and send her all those mean tweets.
What we did to Maya was wrong. My parents told me they didn't believe it at first, because they thought I wasn't capable of saying things like that. To be totally honest, I don't either. I reread some of the tweets we sent her and it made me cry, some of the things we said. It doesn't matter that I wasn't the one telling her she was going to get raped. Just the fact that we did something like that feels unbelievable to me.
I've apologized to her for it in person, and asked if there was any way I could make it right. She said there wasn't, not really. Just to realize that what I thought was a harmless prank didn't feel harmless to her. It felt like someone was really going to kill her. I don't blame her for not letting me off the hook, if she felt that way after what we did.
Hunter, I want to tell you that I don't think you're a bad person. I never did. It's just that after we got in trouble, I saw you turn into somebody else. The guy I saw at the Snow Ball that night was nothing like the person who thought Call of Duty was the most overrated game of the century and shared his Sour Patch Kids with me, and would let me copy his chemistry homework. The person I looked up to because he stood his ground and didn't care what anyone else thought about him, he wasn't the same person who shoved me and said that Maya deserved to get trolled. I don't know what version of Hunter it was that did those things, but I do know that I never want to meet that person again. He's nothing like the best friend I used to have, and really, really miss.
I saw your sister yesterday during intramurals and asked how you were doing. She said she didn't really know, but that your parents go every weekend for Visitor Day, and they said you seemed to be doing better. I hope so. I hope you're talking to people who can help. I hope you don't feel so angry or alone or confused anymore.
If you come back to Degrassi, I can't promise that everything will go back to the way it was. But if you want to talk, I'm here. I promise I'm not going to judge. I'll try to help, and if I can't, I'll find someone who can. But mostly, I'm here to listen.
You were my best friend. You meant a lot to me. You still do.
Carry on, soldier. I have fought by your side in so many battles, and have seen firsthand your strength and skills. This is just one more fight, and I believe you can conquer.
Sincerely,
Yael
XVIV.
Dear Hunter,
Surprise, surprise. I bet you never in a million years thought you'd be hearing from me.
If you tore up the letter as soon as you saw my name on the envelope and didn't even read this far, I can't say I didn't expect it. But if you have managed to keep reading, hopefully you'll let me finish before deciding to tear this paper into confetti.
First of all, you might be happy to hear that I convinced my mom to drop the charges against you. I'm still angry about what you did, but I don't think dragging it out in court is going to solve the problem. I want to put it behind me and move on with my life, and I hope you feel the same way.
Second, I want to tell you that I'm sorry. I'm sorry you're going through all this, and that you're hurting, and that it's scary and painful and hard to understand. You probably don't believe that – if I was in your position, I might not believe me, either – but it's true, and I really hope that you're getting all the help and support you need.
If you haven't stopped reading and torn this up by now, you're probably wondering why the hell I'm writing to you. I wrote this letter because I heard about what happened from your brother, and it brought back memories of something in my life that reminded me of you, and what you might be going through.
A few years ago, someone very close to me was struggling with something I couldn't understand. He was one of the sweetest, most wonderful people I'd ever met, and I cared about him so much.
The first time I noticed something was wrong, I was too scared to say anything. I knew was feeling some dark, complicated emotions that I didn't understand. I knew those emotions caused him to hurt himself on purpose. He never opened up to me about how he was really feeling, and I never asked. He never talked to me about how dark things were, how alone he felt, and how ashamed he was that he felt that way. He needed help, and I didn't know how to handle it or who I could talk to.
It's taken me a long time to admit this, but the truth was, I didn't want to ask him how he was really feeling. I didn't want to know the answer, because I was afraid of what it would be.
So I stayed quiet. I kept my mouth shut and never said a word to anybody, even though I knew, deep down, that he was in trouble.
He killed himself two years ago. It happened right after Spring Break. He was sixteen. A grade 10, just like you.
Losing him is the worst thing that has ever happened to me. Not a day goes by when I don't wish I had done more to help him. That I had a better understanding about what he was going through, and that I'd been able to reach out to him. And I wish there wasn't such a stigma around mental illness that people would rather die than admit they need help. If we were taught that having depression or bipolar disorder or schizophrenia didn't mean someone was a bad person, then people wouldn't feel so ashamed. They could talk to someone, and save their lives. They wouldn't feel "crazy".
My therapist taught me that.
Surprise again – or maybe not. Maybe you already knew I saw a therapist. Miles drove me to an appointment once, and I don't know if he mentioned anything to you. But if you didn't know, I am.
I've been seeing Dr. Ricci for almost a year now, and the main thing she's been drilling into me is that I can't change the past. That, and I don't have a crystal ball; I can't predict the future, and I can't stop bad things from happening, no matter how badly I want to. The point is, I can't always be in control. And that's the scariest thing to accept. Even after a year in therapy, I don't think I've totally accepted this fact. But it's true, and it sucks: sometimes, my world will be out of control.
It scares the shit out of me to know that.
Why am I telling all of you this? Mostly because when Miles told me what happened, it made me think a lot about why I was in therapy in the first place. Before I started seeing Dr. Ricci (and before my friend killed himself…it's still so, so hard to write those words, even now, and saying them out loud is practically impossible) I never thought I was the kind of person who "did that" – you know. Saw shrinks. Took pills. Felt crazy.
That's the other really important thing Dr. Ricci taught me – calling yourself crazy is part of the stigma of mental health, and it demonizes people who struggle with problems that may not be visible but are still eating away at their lives, and will destroy them if they don't seek help.
The way she puts it is like this: if you had a headache, you'd take aspirin. If you had a broken bone, you'd put a cast on it. But if there was something in the brain that wasn't working like it should, there are people who don't get help because they think it means they're broken or wrong, somehow. Except why should you be more ashamed of one and not the other? Why does everyone label problems they can't see with their eyes as "crazy"? All it does is make it that much harder for people to reach out when they really need it. Why is it so hard to admit that we need help?
If there wasn't such a stigma, then maybe I could have saved my friend. Or maybe he could have saved himself. Maybe he would still be alive today. I'll never know, but what I do know is that I will spend the rest of my life wishing he had gotten the help he needed and that he had a chance to live. That regret is never going to go away, and it will always hurt. I wouldn't wish this kind of pain on anybody.
I am a mentally ill person. I'm just going to come out and say it, because it's nothing to be ashamed of. It's like saying, "I am a girl with blonde hair". I'm not "crazy". I'm not "broken". I'm a person with a diagnosed mental condition that I struggle with on a daily basis. Some days I'm okay, and some days I'm not. Sometimes I get angry and upset over things that don't make sense. Sometimes I worry about things that other people wouldn't think twice about. Sometimes, I have days where nothing feels like it's going to be okay, and I feel like I'm going to break into a million pieces because things feel so WRONG in the world.
A few years ago, I never thought I'd say those words. I never thought about mental illness at all, really. I'd never met anybody who had one – at least, anybody who admitted it. And that's the problem with mental illness: everyone keeps it a secret out of shame, and that shame breeds silence, and that silence keeps breeding more shame because nobody talks about it, and it just keeps going and going in this horrible cycle until everyone's so locked inside their own heads they can't find their way out. They get lost, and they're hurting so badly, but since it doesn't leave a physical scar, we write it off. They're "drama queens", "moody", and "crazy".
But I'm not crazy. And neither are you.
I'm sorry about everything you're going through. I can't say I know exactly what it feels like, but I do know how it is when your mind goes to these terrible, dark places you can't get out of. It will destroy your whole life. It did for my friend. It almost did for me.
I hope you're getting help. I hope you have someone you can talk to when things get too dark. I hope you're not always hurting. I hope you realize that you're not bad, or crazy, or pathetic, or weak.
Most of all, I hope you realize you're not alone. If you don't believe anything else in this letter, at least believe that.
Sincerely,
Maya
PS – I don't know how often you talk to Miles, but I really, really hope that you reach out and talk to him. You might be surprised at how much he understands. And besides, he loves you.
Here's the thing that really kills me, all these weeks you've been away. It's that I don't have the senses I used to. Everything feels less sharp around me, like the colors got too runny on a watercolor, and everything just feels dull.
Even the way I move feels different. It's like my arms and legs forgot how to bend, and the rest of me forgot how to cooperate. Like all of a sudden, I lost all my muscle memory, even though my whole life, I've been moving the exact same way, over and over and over again. I never had to think about how to move before, because I never had to practice. I just DID.
And now I can't do that anymore.
XX.
Dear Hunter,
I know you still don't want to see me, and that's fine. I respect that. I'll stay away as long as you want me to.
But no matter how much you might want another brother, I'm the only one you have, and you're the only one I have. For better or worse, you have me, and while you think it's mostly for worse, I promise you I will always be here.
After Dad left, I told you I could be a better brother, since I couldn't take Dad's place. It always drove me nuts, how you and Frankie used to say I was just like him. It still makes me mad, to be honest. I've tried my whole life NOT to turn into him, and yet it keeps happening. But when he left, I made a promise to you to be better, and to be who you needed me to be.
If you had a better brother, he probably wouldn't be writing you this letter, because you would be here with him. Not in Calgary, where someone else has to help you get better, because your family completely let you down.
The truth is, if we somehow got trapped in another burning building and I had to choose between saving you and Frankie or Mom and Dad, I'd choose you without looking back. I'm not as mad at Mom as I used to be, but she made her choices. It's pretty clear that in the burning mess that is our family, she'd save Dad while the rest of us went up in flames.
(Saying that doesn't make me a good person, but hey, it's not like I ever claimed to be one. I know I'm not. I could try to be, but I'm not sure I'd get very far.)
But I'm not going to act like Mom and Dad. They might want to bury their heads in the sand and act like nothing's changed, but I won't. I'm sick of pretending like everything's perfect and we're this happy little family. I'm sick of always having to paste on a face for everyone. I'm sick of acting like nothing's wrong.
I can't be like that anymore. I mean, look at all the wonderful things it did for us – Mom being a trainwreck, Dad being…Dad, me being a drug addict, Frankie doing her whole "teenage rebellion" thing. And you, all the way in Calgary. We're one big happy walking After School Special.
I made you a promise once, and I failed. I do that a lot, as I'm sure you've realized. Fail the people I care about. Especially if I love them – actually, my screw-ups are pretty much exclusive to the people I love. What can I say. I guess I have a talent for alienating people and hurting the ones I would give anything to NOT hurt. It's like I don't know how to do anything except ruin everything I touch.
But I'm trying to change, I swear. I'm really trying. I'm going to therapy, talking with Dr. Margolis, doing everything I can do be better. I used to think that people never change, and who knows, maybe they don't. Dad never will, Mom never will. They're never going to be the people we need them to be for us, no matter how badly we wish it (that's another thing I talked about a lot with Dr. Margolis – coming to terms with Mom and Dad not being there for us. I can't say I'm completely on-board, but maybe that's the best I can do).
I know I'm a pathological screw-up, and haven't exactly been the most stable and supportive big brother. I've disappointed you a lot. And I know I can't make up for any of that. But I WANT to change. I WANT to be better. And I think the key to wanting to change is knowing other people need you to.
When you come home, I will be a different brother. One you can count on.
From now on, I will be the person you deserve.
Love,
Miles
XXI.
Miles,
Just looked over your latest draft of your story for The Interpreter. I've made some small corrections you'll see in the margins, but overall, it's an excellent piece. The tension in your words and the way you clearly show the complex relationship between you and your siblings is fantastic.
Don't second guess yourself; just submit, and be proud. Even if The Interpreter doesn't publish it, it's still the strongest bit of writing you've done all term.
I hope you'll keep writing once the school year ends. You have grown so much as a writer this year, and it's been wonderful to see it happen.
Mr. DeLuna
The best way I can describe it is like floating in the ocean. It's like I'm on my back, staring up at the sky, and I can't see anything except the emptiness. And if I look around me, all I see is water. I'm this empty, pointless little speck in the middle of all this Nothing, and the hugeness is something I can't understand, because it hurts to think about, like physically hurts my body, like a brand-new bruise.
I know you're coming home soon but it feels like you never are. It feels like someone took you away for good and you're never really coming back. It's like I'm wandering through another country and I'm a stranger who doesn't speak the language, and you're on the other side of this huge, sky-sized ocean of Nothing I'm floating in.
XXII.
Dear Hunter,
I know this probably sounds stupid, but please, if you haven't thrown this letter out as soon as you saw my name on it, can you just bear with me and let me tell this, Bud?
One session, Dr. Margolis and I talked about strength, and how sometimes, we are strong even when we don't feel like it. It was the session right after I almost relapsed, and I talked to Mom about boarding school. I was so, so scared then. Honestly, it was almost as bad as the night of the Snow Ball, or when I saw the smashed-up car.
It would have been so easy for me to just go with Esme, to do whatever drugs she wanted me to do, to drink anything she handed me, to just…let go, and stop feeling this crushing weight bearing down on me, that constant stress of trying to stay clean, to avoid triggers, to walk away and not give in even though every part of me wanted SO BADLY to just use, use, use.
I felt so weak that day. I felt like if that conversation with Esme had gone on one second longer, I would have done it. Actually, I know I would have. And if I hadn't been told Mom, I know I would have eventually started using again. It's like this horrible HUNGER, and it doesn't go away and nothing helps it except MORE. I honestly thought I was doing okay, and then that day happened, and I pretty much fell apart. Because I still wanted to use. I wasn't strong enough to stop feeling like an addict.
I told Dr. Margolis how much I hated feeling so weak, and that one talk with Esme could have completely destroyed any shred of hope I had that I could really get better. I told him how easily I could've messed up. He kept reminding me that I hadn't used, and I should be proud of myself for doing that, but I feel like that's just the base line, and nobody should give you a cookie for being a decent human being. Like, okay, you did the very basic minimum required of you to be a member of humanity, good for you, you win a Good Person Award. Just because I avoided triggers THAT DAY didn't mean I would always avoid them, and next time, I might give in and throw sobriety out the window.
He told me that addiction was something that I would always struggle with. That coming to counseling was just a start. That being clean is a process. And I'd like to, for the record, just say right now that I hate that fucking word – process. What the hell does that even mean? Nobody can seem to give me a real definition - whenever I ask, they start babbling about how we have to "trust the process" and WHY DO SHRINKS LOVE THAT WORD SO MUCH? Seriously. If you have to get so many advanced degrees and go to school for so long to do this job, you should be forced to define that word. It should be plastered on a poster on the wall of every shrink's office in the world. Do they say that in your group therapy, about how recovery is a "process" and we have to "trust the process"? Does it drive you as nuts as it does me?
Anyway.
Addiction. Process (HATE THAT WORD). Always struggling. Just the beginning.
Dr. Margolis told me that staying sober won't always be as hard as it was that day with Esme. But sometimes, it will be. That's just the ugly truth of addiction, is that you're never all the way "better". Sometimes, I will want to use so badly I'll do just about anything to get high, and it won't matter who I hurt. Some days I'll want a drink more than anything else in the world. Some days, it's going to be so hard to walk away, it'll feel easier to give up than stay clean.
But sobriety is something you work for, and like anything that forces you to work, it's going to be harder some days than others. You build up your strength, little by little. Kind of like training for a marathon – you start running small distances, then eventually you build up, and soon you can run the entire race when you couldn't before. You keep repeating the work, and you get stronger over time, and the part of you that resists that hurt gets stronger, too. And the stronger you are, the less it hurts.
The other day, Tristan asked me how you were doing. It was a simple question, and I was about to say "fine", but all of a sudden I started crying, and couldn't stop. I was trying to breathe but nothing was getting in, I couldn't move or talk or do anything, just feel like something was strangling me, and I felt so dizzy I thought I'd be sick, and I was burning up all over and it was like getting an electric shock, I was so paralyzed. It was one of the scariest feelings I've ever felt. It felt like I was dying, it hurt so much.
I don't know how long I sat that way, but Tristan saw I was completely freaking out and he looked at me in this way that just broke me in half. When I saw that look on his face, I lost it and just cried harder. He didn't look at me with pity or worry, just this pure look of...I guess I'd have to call it love. He just put his arms around me and stayed with me until I could finally get a grip. And when my head hurt so badly I couldn't even open my eyes, he helped me up and held my hand the entire time. He never let go of me once, never said a word, he never tried to kiss me or touch me or do anything but hold onto me.
The entire time I was losing it, the fact that he was just there was the best thing anyone has ever done for me. He didn't have to say anything. All he had to do was be there. Just something about knowing I didn't have to react in any way to him, or have to worry about what he thought of me, if I was scaring him or if this was too weird or intense for him, if he wanted to get away from me ASAP...I didn't worry about any of that. I didn't care WHAT he thought of me. I was just grateful he was there. And Tristan never judged me, never tried to make it better, or be fake and say everything was going to be okay when it wasn't.
When I finally calmed down, I felt like everything – you being away, dealing with Dad and Esme, staying clean – was more bearable.
What I'm trying to tell you is this: if you ever feel the way I did, like you're walking around with your heart ripped open and everything's falling apart and you're just trying to make it through another day wondering how long you can live like this, you're not invisible. A lot of people will run away screaming for the hills when they see you're a mess, but some people won't. Some people will stay. Sometimes, people can actually surprise you, and love you anyway, even if you're a walking disaster zone. There are people that keep you holding on. They're your reason for staying clean, for walking away, for thinking that maybe, you can beat this monster in your head that won't leave you alone.
No matter what Dr. Margolis says, I don't think I'm strong. But I'm around people who are, and need me to be different, be better. To be there like Tristan was there for me. Everyone should have someone like that. Everybody should feel that way in their lives. It made me think about how I could be that person for you. If you feel like the world is ending, I could be the person who makes you feel like it isn't. If things are too dark to see a way out of, I could help. If you needed me, I'd be there.
I don't think I'm a strong person, but I want to be.
I love you, and I always will.
Miles
PS – The essay I attached is going to be published in the Interpreter next week. Maybe some of it will be familiar to you.
PPS – See, this is why I can't wait for you to come home. You're gone for a while, and all of a sudden I'm sending you homework in the mail. Of my own free will. Send help.
PPPS – Hope you like your other present. I know there aren't enough to make up a full army, but these things are, like, two bucks at the pharmacy. A few more of these, and you'll have just as many as you did when you were little.
XXIII.
I can't believe you're sending me homework. Guess I'm not the only insane one in this family.
I forgot all about the army man thing until I read the essay. It's weird that you remember that better than I do. They're my memories, but I don't have any for myself. I'm remembering about the war scenes and the movies and the claw machine because you're telling me, but it's like watching a movie of someone else's life.
You know the weird thing is, the day after I got your letter, I remembered something about that beach house you didn't mention. Remember when we had to stop at that office where they kept all the keys for the vacation homes? We called it "the key store". It was always the first place we'd stop when we got off the bridge and onto the island. Dad would go in and get the house keys, and we'd get out of the car and run around going crazy because five Hollingsworths crammed into one car for a four-and-a-half hour drive is torture I would only wish on a handful of enemies.
The back of the key store had that little Japanese garden, and that path you could take to walk around it. Remember that? And in the middle of that place, there was that huge koi fish pond, where we named every fish and thought they were the same ones every year we went. Which was idiotic, since they probably died every few months and had to be replaced with new ones, but whatever, we were kids and we were dumb.
Do you remember that one year you and I named one of them Fredtrunks? You said he was our fish, and we wouldn't let Frankie have him – whatever that meant back then. She got so pissed and whined to Mom about it, and Mom just give us this look like she couldn't believe we were getting so upset over something that stupid. And this happened pretty much every year after that. We'd get to the key store, go to the koi pond, and look for Fredtrunks (how the hell did that name come up, anyway? I'm going to give that blame to you). Frankie would get all huffy, so of course she went and named all the other fish in the pond and told us they were HERS, and we weren't allowed to have any. Then she'd make this big show out of saying hi to HER fish and saying we weren't allowed to say hi to them, but it didn't matter, because we had our own fish.
I think whatever made us so territorial over stupid koi fish is what made us believe those toys in the claw machine were actually important. I'm not sure what Mom was putting in our juice boxes back then, but whatever it was, I wonder if we can get some of that now.
Thanks for the offer, but I already have a guy lined up for when I get out. He's one of the counselors that visits here every week, when we have our private sessions. His name's Mr. Lanier. He's okay, for a headshrinker. He's not as annoying as most people, so he's got that going for him. Maybe I'll try your Dr. Margolis someday, but for now, Mom has me scheduled to see Dr. Lanier once a week at his regular office.
I don't know if I'm still mad at you or not. Like, sometimes I think I am, but other times I'm calmer and know you were just trying to help me. It's like that with a lot of things now. Sometimes they get me angry, but other times I barely notice them. Little shit that used to piss me off now seems a lot easier to handle. It doesn't all stack up and feel like everything is fucked up. I guess that means the shrinks here are doing their jobs?
I don't know what Mom meant, either. I don't think I feel "better". I don't know how "better" is supposed to feel, really. All I know is that I feel different, and in a way that feels okay. More okay than I was when I got locked up, anyway. I don't really know how to describe it, but it might feel like what breathing better feels like to you.
I'm glad you can breathe better.
Hunter
PS – Thanks for the stuff. Maybe it's a sign of just how bored I've been stuck in this place, but I had no idea a bag of 200 plastic army men could keep me from losing my mind – so to speak.
I have to ask you something:
If you lose a part of yourself you never thought you'd lose, what are you then?
Did you even exist, before it went away?
And if you never get it back, what do you become?
XXIV.
Dear Frankie,
I've tried writing this a million times and
I don't know where to start I've tried writing this a billion times
I don't know how to even begin saying I'm sorry
I hope you don't hate me
Dear Frankie
I wish I could I miss
I've missed you every single second I've been here.
If you're mad, I understand. If you're upset, I get that, too. My shrink – his name's Dr. Lanier – he said that you might feel any of those things, and they're normal, and valid, and I can't force you to feel a certain way, and we just have to be patient with each other. It's okay if you hate me if you're scared of me or
Frankie
Did Mom tell you I'm coming home in a few weeks?
I hate that there are days in my life that I have that you don't I've missed you every single day I've been here
I hate that I'm always going to be your brother, but I won't always feel like your twin.
Do you ever think that someday, we would grow up completely separate? You could go traveling to places I've never been, or get married to someone I might never meet, have kids I'll never know. On your birthday, it will only be your birthday. You won't have to share with anyone.
It was always you and me against the world and without you here it's like I'm just one person instead of part of two. I know we haven't been close in years
Dear Frankie,
you're my twin and you have no idea
When they shut me in here it was like they were cutting me off from you, and it's the first time I ever felt that way it's so weird being without you
I know we haven't been close in years but I don't know how to NOT be a twin. Like someone opened me up and scooped something out of me, some part of me that made up who I was.
XXV.
Frankie
I'll be home soon