Dear He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named:

We were friends once, briefly, through the efforts of someone else, and you were so smart, and strange, and damaged, and i was so young and idealistic that i thought i should try. I thought everyone should have a chance; to heal, to grow, to find some sense of themselves outside of those broken places. After all, i was broken, too, wasn't i?

Now i want to say to you, I hope that life has helped you. I hope that life has given you what you need, and filled your empty, intense spaces with love and comfort and joy. I hope that time and space and wisdom have weathered over and smoothed away all the sharp, jagged rocks and steep mountains and broken glass that were the roads your naked feet walked inside your mind. I hope that you have made a successful place for yourself in the world, where you can afford to be comfortable, and easygoing, and where the pain you felt is simply a memory - visited, learned from, endured.

I wish these things for you, but, you see, I was broken, too, when i met you. I still am. I always will be. While time has given some measure of relief, some release from that childhood of misery, life still happens and i cringe whenever the phone rings, worried about who might be calling. My skin crawls in response to a certain tone of voice, a particular look, a forgotten sound, or color, or smell. I live in a veritable hovel, afraid to move on because, in spite of all things, it is peaceful and safe. I know my neighbors on all sides, and they know me. Behind these locked doors and strong walls, on this busy urban street where everyone remembers me, where the police recognize my face and my family, we are guarded and never alone. I cannot leave this safety behind, and I do not take this hard-won security for granted. I do not ever forget what things might be. I do not make noise. I do not stick my neck out. I do not, ever, get so comfortable that i stop looking over my shoulder. I do not, under any circumstances, make waves, or enter into conflict, or make an impression other than, 'nice,' or 'kind'. I do not breathe easy. I do not relax. My guard is never down. I hide within my own skin, and jump at strange noises, and I never, ever sleep. I cannot risk what might happen if any of this were to change, and so, i wait, silently.

I have refused and refused and refused opportunities and options. I have capped my own abilities, and cut myself off from those things that made me who i am have always been, and still am not allowed to be. I have, endlessly, been a slave to my own fears, and the need for self-preservation. I have foregone my own wants, and needs, and desires, and in so doing have denied them to my family as well. Because this is my burden, and i have borne it, but i am tired now, after all these years of it crushing me down. I long for easier, simpler days. I dream about vacations, and picnics, and a property in my name with space, and distance, and trees. I wish for myself those same things i wish for you, but i have stifled my own voice and I have hidden my fire from the world for all this time because the broken parts never leave and even though it has been 25 years since I laid eyes on you, i can still hear you promising, as if it were spoken today:

"No matter where you go, or what you do, I will find you. Someday, you will open your door and I will be standing on your doorstep, waiting."

I have not forgotten