Him.

A Chapter by AlleighMTooker

This is just one of many writings that I wrote about Him. The man that I fell head over heals for three years ago. It's more of an introspection than a love note.

7/5/14

You know who you. So here it is, this is my letter to you.
I know you. Or maybe by now it's a 'knew'. Either way, I'll use the ladder.
I knew you. And you cannot deny it.
Well, you can, but you'll be lying to yourself, and as we both know, lying to yourself isn't exactly okay.
But I digress.
I knew you.
Yes, I did.
I knew exactly who you were.
And who you were, you know it too.
And you know that I knew.
So there's no point in denying it.
Not anymore.
And here's the thing:
I loved you. And you knew that. And you loved me too.
Maybe not in the same way that I loved you, but you have to admit: I meant something to you.
All those talks with our backs against those walls.
All the walks and one on ones.
All of the poems and words shared.
All of that time spent with me; that family visit with my father.
I meant something to you.
Which, probably means, that in some way, you loved me too.
Yes, that's what it was. You grew to care for me, which, eventually, probably when I was struggling with my one-true-love for you, you were coming to terms, or maybe struggling to still decipher, that you did in fact love me too.
Whether or not it was romantically invoked, or not.
That's what you were struggling with while I was back there, so in love with you.
I just know it.
And maybe, if we were to meet today, things would be different. It'd be okay, because you love me for who I am without that romance.
But there could be romance. I just know it.
We could fall back into each other's live like a puzzle, and then fall in love.
A perfect fit, with you with me.
That's all I want.
To be honest, you've been on my mind a lot lately, and I don't even know why.
I think that it could possibly be because I am finally falling into my life, or it could be a sense of foreshadowing, that we're going to meet again soon.
But that's crazy talk, isn't it? I mean, how could we meet again? You live in the state of cheese and beer, but I live inside the confounds of this damn mitten. Besides that, why would you want me again? You're life is great, mine, mine isn't so great. I'm me, an overweight, underachieved girl who has absolutely nothing to offer you.
So how could you even want to end up in my life?
And you know, if I was sober right now, which I can feel a few lights of sobriety in me, meaning that: this weed is beginning to wear off, I wouldn't be honestly thinking this, I'd be dreaming. Day dreaming. Mental story-ing.
And it'd all seem impossible, because that would be exactly like a story I'd make up, and those are just movies that are in fact just overplayed in my mind, and nothing's ever like the movies, right?
But what if it wasn't so impossible? What if that could actually happen?
The difference here is: I'm not living my life as a cynic or an actress or an impossibility. I'm high right now, and I really like this because I have never really thought this way.
So what.
What if it could happen? I just need to get out of my own head and into life, that's what's keeping me back. Hell, if I felt and was like this all the time, I would be.
But that's not really an option, so I'm going to try and practice this is my sobriety.
Because then, it could happen. All of it.
We could fall right back into each other's lives, God-knows-how, but we could.
And it'd be perfect. We'd be perfect.
So why can't that happen? Why am I like this? Just....why?
I know. Because I am messed up. Legitimately, that wasn't a hit on myself. I am legitimately messed up. Because of my upbringing, because of my hell.
You know this as well as I.
I really wish that I wasn't messed up. At least not like this. Because life could be grand! Beautiful. Holistic. Stunning.
But it's not. Because I live my life convincing myself that I'm on a stage and that none of this is really real. The stories. So I try to control them, so at Lear then it finally goes my way for once.
My bridge between dreaming dreams and the determinating productivity to make those things actually happen, was burnt.
Barb was right----my father did give me permission to give up. Everyone did.
And I'm not hitting them down right now, but all of the 'you're never going to make it', 'you'll never be good enough', 'why don't you just quit like you always do', and 'you're just a lowlife piece of s**t's have all brunt down that bridge that I was never even hardly able to be given a chance to walk upon and even really explore it.
I never learned how to rebuild, that's what it is.
I've just ever learned how to keep going, at and only at the bottom. That's why my depression means so much to me, and that's why I love it so much, because it gives me a sense of something to work towards. Something with an end goal: treatment.
Whereas this, this whole new 'I've got a job and am earning money' thing is, well, at least trying to rebuild something for me.
But it's not what I need.
I need someone who is right there with me, telling me that I CAN make it. That I AM worth something. That I DO have the ability to actually make something of myself.
I need help.
I think that's why I love and flock to Barb so much, because she gives that to me, and I really need it. She knows that too.
She's amazing.
But---digression time, back to you.
My God, how I could love you!
And nothing would even matter--not my weight, not your age, nor our distance.
But I'll become a little kid again, always wanting to be reassured and such. That's just the way it is for me.
I am broken. I am damaged.
But that doesn't mean that I'm not helpable. Fixable.
You could help me. Help fix me. Help me help myself fix me.
But this won't ever happen now.
Because I am becoming more and more sober by the minute, and as a result going back to my old cynical self. My mental story-ing self.
It's just me, in this world, and no one but myself can ever help me.
That it always ends up coming back to you.
It's just you, yourself, and you.
As in: the way I think is: it's just me, myself, and I.
No one else.
I am singular. Ultimately alone in this world.
And then there's you.
And then there you.
You're a whole nother world in just the quotation marks that surrounds the "you".
You, you give me different sense of self, someone who is happy and carefree and actually productive. Whole.
Playing out those mental stories with you is my way of getting to feel like I am who I really am, even if it wasn't real.
Ryan, you're the key to me.
The real me.
And I just really f*****g want that back.

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