I didn't write my name and address at the back of the envelope because I wanted you to open it. And I didn't sign the letter because I knew the first thing you'd do would be to check the bottom of the letter, and I don't want you to throw it away before you get a chance to read it.

You'll know who this is, though.

I'm writing because I sometimes wonder how you are. It might sound stupid, I know, but I don't think I need more than that. I sincerely just worry about how you life turned out so far, and the reason I do that is not because I still love you. It's because sometimes I look at my own life and wonder how it would have turned out if I had done the same decisions you made.

And then I'm almost thankful, because in a way you showed me how terrible it would be.

I wonder if you already know who I am. I'd be fucking disappointed in you if you didn't, Brad.

So I decided to write this letter to tell you about how my life turned out, and maybe make you do the same with yours. I'm not saying you should dress in drag and do the time warp in front a live audience every week, but maybe just be a little more honest to yourself. You know what I mean.

I'm at University of Washington, but I think you already knew that. It gets really cold in the winter, but it's alright because I've started wearing a lot of scarves. It's my thing. People like it. The food is terrible, which is forcing me to learn how to cook. And I don't mean pot. I'm doing some theater that requires real singing now. I haven't dressed in drag yet. I'm taking a social studies class that is changing the way I see the world. I'm going to at least one rock concert every week. I get wasted at least once a month. I'm dating a guy from film school. We hold hands when we walk in the hallway.

I'm writing you these things so you'll know that I'm okay. And that you could be okay, too.

I know what you're thinking right now.

"It's not the same."

"You don't understand."

"It's easy for you."

And you're right, and you're wrong.

I understand what it's like to pretend to be someone you're not and to try to not let that fake part of you get in the way of the real one. And I know that at the end, you can't do both. You can't fake one part of you and be yourself in everything else. The person you're pretending to be will either take over, or everything will fall apart.

You may think that what happened to your dad in high school was falling apart, but it wasn't. The day everything really falls apart, you're going to realize you're completely gone. Either from this life or from yourself.

I may have understood that before you, Brad, but I still had to struggle with it. I know what it's like. I know it's hard, and I know it takes a lot to change things.

I spent two years trying to tell you this. I hadn't really figured it all out myself, but I thought maybe we could do it together. Maybe that's what this letter will do, even though we're not in the same school, or the same city anymore.

Maybe you also had a class that changed the way you see the world. Maybe this letter will push you into becoming yourself. Maybe you already have.

I only hope for the best.