Dear Charlie,
Please don't ask how I found you. It was hard, maybe not even worth it. I don't want to tell you the things I am about to tell you anyway.
But you've shared so much with me about yourself, everything important, and you are a beautiful person. I see how much you see and can't even begin to imagine what life would look like with your eyes as lenses. Everything is something to ponder with you Charlie, and no one ever stops to wonder the way you do.
And it's because you're such a brilliant and wonderful person that I have to tell you that you were wrong about me. I would hate myself if I let you go on thinking I'm anything more than I am. It would be lying to you, after all the honesty you've shown me.
Let me tell you about that party.
I was younger then. I was new to high school, new to having friends that were boys and new to alcohol. More importantly, I was high on the power I seemed to be holding over this boy. It was fantastic- I could twirl my hair around my finger and make him watch. I could turn my head a down and a little to the side, narrow my eyes and smile, and make him think I knew a secret. And I could push my chest up against him while we danced and make his mind go blank.
Yes, I could have slept with him and I didn't. I am not proud of this because when it all came down to it, I had asked for it and then decided I was too scared to want it.
Do you know what I mean? I was a tease, a fake. I had that poor boy thinking I was very attracted to him, when in reality I thought he was a dumb jock. His friends were attractive, and by some transitive property of attractiveness this made him attractive too, but I didn't think so. I let him believe this, though, and then I left with my friends. I could have slept with him, but I didn't. It seems a little different now, doesn't it?
She said I listen and understand. This is half true. I do try to listen, mostly because sometimes people just need to hear themselves talk things out and not feel stupid about talking to no one at all. But I am just an empty receptacle for their musings; I understand very little. I don't understand why people who are perfectly good people have to have such terrible things happen to them. Or get so confused about situations that have one clear answer, like You should probably stop sleeping with him it makes you feel bad. I nod and give them a response that you might find in a Self Help book, one written by someone who has never needed any real help. Maybe, if you could put all the problems into concrete categories and develop specific solutions for each one, this would be okay. But you know it more than anyone Charlie; there are so many facets to any conflict, and there is no way for someone to consider them all and write out the right answers.
Understanding is when you can see the other person's perspective and why they see things the way they do. I don't know anyone well enough to look into their paradigm.
You say that I am alive, and appreciate what that means. I don't know how you concluded this. I am alive, I know this, but I don't know what it means. I think people look to me for strength because I don't show them when I am sad, or when I'm upset with them, so they think I never am. Worst of all, I don't tell them they should probably stop sleeping with one another if it makes them feel bad. I just ask if they are okay and when they lie to me I believe them.
Charlie, you are that someone that listens and understands and doesn't sleep with people even though you could have. You could have had Sam if you had fought, but you didn't because you cared about her so much. That is beautiful. You understand people. You listen to them. You listened to Patrick with your eyes and ears and even with your lips when he lost Brad. It's people like me that need you know you exist, and no the other way around. You are alive because you observe life, and Sam and Patrick and Mary Elizabeth and Rocky Horror and your siblings and Michael and Bob and all those people you told me about taught you how to experience it.
You are that someone. I am sorry that you have to be this someone for yourself also, because I can't. I'm a flake Charlie; you are the real thing. Please believe this about yourself.
Love always,
Your Friend