30 Days of Truth: Day 8 - Someone Who Has Made Your Life Hell

Dear Patrick,

It's been over ten years since I have heard your voice, your laugh. It's been over ten years since I have seen your face or hugged you. It's been over ten years since you decided to take your own life. It's been over ten years since you broke me.

I can't imagine the pain you must have been in when you made your decision. I know that a great deal, if not all of that pain was caused by decisions that I made. I can't imagine being in so much pain that I feel the only way to heal myself is to pass the pain on to everyone that I love. I have been sorry every single day since then that I had any part at all in that pain that you felt, especially if it was a fraction of the pain that I have felt since then.

You broke me, and you broke me into about a million pieces. I became a different person and I lost who I was. I gave up. I lost focus. I lost my drive. I lost ME. I gave up what I was working toward, because I was broken. I gave up because I just wanted to feel better. I didn't want to feel broken anymore. You broke me and I ran away. I ran as far as I could get from the pain, from all the reminders.

You made me hurt other people. Your pain was like a ripple effect. I hurt and I didn't want to. The things I did to make myself heal, to make myself feel better hurt other people. It's very hard to get over something, feelings...when you don't even know what was there in the first place. How do you move past an unknown? You picked me up and threw me into this strange place and I had no idea how to even start finding my way out. I was hollow. I didn't feel anything. I didn't want anything. I didn't need anything.

You tore my life apart. I have spent the past 10  years trying to put it back together. And I have. I have done it well. I have gotten back to a place where I am happy. I like who I am. I like who I can be. I have a beautiful life and amazing opportunities ahead of me. People remember who I was, who I can be. They know who I am now. They don't see the broken person anymore.

There are things I can't get back. I can't get back who I was before you. I can't say that I would want to. You had a part in shaping my life into what it is now. A big part. Was that what you wanted? Because you know, either way you would have accomplished that. You should have known me well enough to know that you were in my life one way or another, for good.

I'm going back. I'm going back to where I was when you broke me. And I am scared as all hell. I have anxiety over it. My pulse races and I feel light headed. I feel alone again. I feel lost again. I feel like I am certifiably insane for this. But I want this. I WANT THIS SO MUCH. I won't let you have control over my life anymore. I won't let you take it from me again. I don't know what will happen when I walk those halls again, when I see all the memories right in front of me. But I am prepared for the emotion . I am prepared to feel the hurt and sadness. I am ready to face it head on, because this is who I am. It's who I have always been. It's who I am meant to be. You can't have that anymore. Maybe I feel like I have something to prove. And I do. I have something to prove to myself. I can do. I will do this. And I will rock it.

You know, I wrote you one other letter. I wrote about how much I would miss you. I wrote about how much you meant to me, whether it was what you wanted or not. You still meant something. You still mean something. I wrote about how sorry I felt for hurting you and prayed that you had the peace you were searching for. I folded the tear stained paper and put it in your pocket, where it still sits, folded and unread.

I wish every single day that I could somehow change what happened with you. I wish I could understand and I know that I never will. I wish that you can see me, can hear me, and still know me. I wish that you can see that I am happy and I am living my life the way it was meant to be lived. I am living. I wish that you can see that I am not hollow; I am full.

I wish that you can see that I am not broken; I am whole. And although a little piece of me is held by you, it is still my piece. I live with it.

I am not broken anymore, Patrick. But I still miss you.

Love,
Me