Dear Edward,

Last time I cried as I wrote to you…maybe I should simply stop. You haven't given me a sign you're reading them. Maybe emails are the way to go, but that too is old-school. Facebook, Facetime, Google Duo, WhatsApp, Skype, Twitter all are they way to communicate and keep in touch. I can't make myself look for you in social media. I hate the detachment in which people find themselves entitled to state their opinions, to rally behind "causes" and think they are changing and making the world a better place. Nothing beats seeing a person eye to eye as you convey your soul to them.

Next best thing?

Writing with your own hands what you feel deep within the marrow of your very essence as you bleed yourself dry, looking for an elusive release from pain, from loneliness and despair. I find myself smiling as I write this…philosophical diatribe.

What do I know about life?

Have I really lived in these 34 years or have I been hiding behind the tragedies life has dealt me?

Don't answer that. I can give you justifications, white lies, recriminations up to my eyeballs, and yet I still stand and breathe. Years go by and my life felt like a standstill and now it's been like a whirlwind of test after test that I can't even worry if I failed each obstacle course. Be careful of what you wish for…the irony doesn't escape me. God stands with me, commands me to wait, His plans and His promises will be fulfilled. I have to believe in these words or else I'll simply succumb to my human nature, my ways of doing things, of wanting immediate results and getting things done.

I can't lose sight of what my purpose in this world is now after finding my way back to God. My life isn't just for solving mundane problems related to consequences of what other people left behind. My soul is eternal and I have to understand that someday I will become the perfect version of what God sees in me, in his perfect love. I'm nowhere near it, I'm just a caterpillar dreaming of becoming a gorgeous butterfly ready to fly off into the heavens.

It doesn't mean I want what others might want to as we walk this imperfect world. I don't know if God will grant me a husband or children, but once again I have to hold his promise that his blessings and closed doors are His way of caring and loving his imperfect daughter. He is all I have, my terrenal parents are gone.

Anxiety and depression lurks around me, I won't deny it to you. They sneak upon me and wreak havoc on my emotions. Emotions are an indissoluble part of us, but tyrants in so many ways. Which brings me to how having my thyroid surgically removed has impacted my body and therefore my emotions. I've suffered depression before, it seems is part of the package I inherited from my father and his chronic depression. But now after the hormonal storm inside me, I can diagnose myself with what I've dubbed "thyroid bipolarity." I've never more out of control and ready to strangle someone. Forget PMS. True homicidal urges that have forced me to isolate myself even more for self-preservation and the good of others. There's not much you can do after your mouth has runaway from you. Saying sorry is just a word and if you're honest you probably still believe you were right, so there is really no repentance on your part. So I'm left alone with my thoughts and my overwhelming sense that my body is against me, bringing me down with its constant struggle to generate more energy and keep my eyes open.

Oh my! I suck at giving you a hopeful outlook on what's going on in my life. I won't blame my thyroid-less and say the dark skies outside my window have given the blues and brought on this retrospective state.

I'll give you a break from it now. Go back to your accustom schedule and don't forget…to smile.

Love,

Bella