Letter to Brian: January 19, 2025
Dear Brian,
I have been experiencing anxiety from having too much junk in my home lately so I decided to join a friend in participating in a decluttering challenge for the month of January. On January 1st, you get rid of (either donate or trash) 1 item, on January 2nd, you toss 2 items and so on until the 31st when you’ll toss out 31 items. As of today, I have now removed 190 items from my home since the start of the month. It feels really good to downsize because clutter is a pretty big source of anxiety for me lately.
While combing through items in a box in the basement, I found a poem I’d written at age 15. Eek. It’s not a good poem by any literary standards, but I thought it appropriate to share here to shed a little light into what my mind was like way back then. I never shared this poem with you, but Mom unfortunately had to read it when she was called into school because someone showed a copy of this poem to an adult and they were, with good reason, quite alarmed. Of course, when Mom and the guidance counselor confronted me with it, I swore up and down, lying through my teeth assuring them, “I don’t really want to die, it was just ‘something I made up’ so there’s nothing to worry about.'“ I don’t entirely know why I lied… because deep down at that point, I did very much want help for my mental illness but I suppose part of me was embarrassed for having those suicidal urges. And if I’m being honest, telling them I was totally fine got them off my back so I wasn’t being watched like a hawk. I was still keeping the self harm under wraps at this age, but it was happening pretty often. I’d like to share this poorly written poem with you now. Maybe if I’d had the courage to share this with you decades ago, we could have helped each other a little more along the way, we were more similar than we were different. So be kind, please… these words from 15 year old Laura on April 28th of 1989 still feel hauntingly familiar today as I approach age 51 in a few days.
I used to sit alone weeping silent cries
Now I slowly watch my life pass before my eyes
I always tried to hide from the pain
Like a frightened child might hide from the rain
All my anger was kept bottled up inside
Because never in my loved ones did I choose to confide
After all those years of keeping to myself
I now realize that I should have asked for help
At last I’ve found a way to escape
A way to flee my world of hate
As I look into the mirror, the only thing I see is a face with a smile
And a heart full of pain that’s been there all the while
Now I’ve already said my last goodbyes
And I can finally escape from all the lies
“No one would ever understand,” I say to myself
As I tightly grip the gun with my quivering hand
If I go through with this now, there won’t be another chance
A chance to be at peace with myself, a chance to find romance
When this is over, nothing else will matter
As all my dreams of happiness shatter
“I’d be better off dead,” I say
As I slowly raise the weapon to my head
A lifetime’s worth of grief and fears
Quickly disappears into nothing but tears
I then pull the trigger– but feel no pain.
Now I can rest, now I can sleep.
Still the few good memories of life that I have, I will always keep.
Yeah, adult Laura knows why she received that note in class summoning me to the guidance counselor after class. And adult Laura understands why Mom was called to the school. Adult Laura isn’t angry with the friends who turned in the poem, but little Laura sure was pissed. Adult Laura wishes little Laura hadn’t continued to dodge the repeated requests to connect with him as he remained concerned for my well being. I ignored each of the hall passes when they were sent to me because I guess I didn’t truly believe anyone could really help me, anyway. I still wonder about that today.
But hey, I’m still here, right? That’s something to acknowledge. Who’d have thought that the fucked up 15 year old would manage to grow all the way into this fucked up 51 year old? 🙂
As always, thanks for listening, dude.
Love,
Laura