I’M FUCKING SCREAMING

Watch it here

T̶h̶e̶y̶'̶v̶e̶ ̶s̶e̶e̶n̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶s̶ ̶y̶a̶ ̶n̶a̶s̶t̶i̶e̶s̶

An old letter that failed to be sent. Something I’m far too old to hang onto.

If I told anyone how I felt about you, they would most certainly laugh. I'm too young, right? Too young to love someone as beautiful as you are, too hopeless to love someone who’s constantly there. I've had multiple, long, tiring weeks where I've only thought of you. The light forehead kisses- and that one movie we watched were we couldn't stop holding hands. I felt grounded- so utterly in love that I barely had time to focus on the movie itself, just the sweat beginning to bleed through our intertwined hands. Although it seems I'm in a much more heart-wrenching moment. I can't seem to stop thinking of you, can't seem to stop crying as the emptiness in my heart aches and aches to be filled. Filled with a delicate kiss on the forehead, or your beautiful, delicate hands moving through my hair like a hot knife singing through the skin. I can't seem to clear my head as my hands tremble, trying to voice my thoughts onto something other than the clutches of the depression that rages inside my head, untouched to the idea of healing. Laughing hysterically as I cut slashes to my skin, loving every tear that goes unnoticed by my family, gripping onto every last insecurity I've ever known. It won't let go, as much as I try to make its grasp fall, it holds on. I can’t remember life without the idea of getting better, the phantom drugs messing with my brain. The trial and error of feelings, days spent where I only want to cry- but the pills blocking the sweet release of salty rain. The money went down the drain, the nights where the only thing I wanted to do was end it all. Not have to see another fucking c plastered onto a test, or the judgemental eyes of my parents when I'm with you. They know somethings up, they have begun to understand the way I look at you or the way we cuddle on the couch. I can't separate myself from you quick enough, they see the lingering touches of unsaid love.

I know you said you needed the time with your family, wanted to be with your father in fear you wouldn't be able to see him another day, but darling I need to be able to witness your smile for myself. It's selfish, so utterly self-centered- I know, I fucking know. But I can't go another weekend alone, waiting away the hours until I can distract myself with the days of concentration and work. I respect your boundaries, I’ll respect that you will never have the same connection with me as you do the people you see 5 days a week, for the whole year. I understand I will have to accept that- but sweetheart I simply can't go another hour without your hands in mine. I can't go another hour without seeing your eyes look into mine with nothing but love. The love I can't even receive from my own family.

I want to be able to feel your lips against mine, to be able to feel skin rubbing against the skin in the most innocent way possible. Soft cuddles to keep us grounded in this hellhole people call paradise.

Oh, darling. My beloved cup of coffee on a morning blessed with rain.

I love you, and I have since we were at the youngest of years. I care so much about you, and I apologize I must write to you like this. I am afraid, afraid that the next time you see me will be at my funeral. I honestly have not been doing well, my medication is failing me. I am failing myself. I am ruining my health physically and mentally. It’s been a month since I’ve actually eaten something; it’s been two months since I’ve gone to see my therapist. I know I continuously tell you that I see them, but I can’t. The scars lining my hips are ruining who I am. People see them and comment on them. You always told me they were beautiful, and honestly, that’s how my shameful crush on you settled. You saw past who I was and looked at who I am. You looked at my personality, my present. My broken past did nothing to make you run away.  You held me in your arms when I cried, when I panicked, and I couldn’t hold back anymore. I remember every detail of it. The soft scent of gasoline and sweat that clung to your sweater from your long day at work, it overflowed my lungs, causing my heart to explode. Your sweet, tired voice that soothed my soul one thoughtful “It’s okay..” at a time. The feeling of your arms wrapped oh so protectively around my dying hope. Thinking about it now, I cannot help but let the tears drip from my eyes. As I am writing this now you are asleep on the couch beside me, your soft snoring being the inspiration for my words. Your colored skin shining peacefully from the light that radiated past the dim skylight. Years of life walked through the dark city alleys, and people without jobs slept sadly by storefronts. This is the city we grew up in, right? If it holds so much trauma in my past, why does the soft bustle of people soothe me? Perhaps it is the knowledge that this is my last night. My last night here, in this world. Granting that this is also the last night I will ever be able to see your soft giggle in your sleep or to witness the warmth of your smile on a particularly hard day. I could go on and on about your looks. The beautiful person that is you, and how you blessed my world. There are no words to describe your true beauty, although I can try. Your blonde hair, curled at the ends, like a sea of golden waves, or a halo rimming your freckle filled face. A smile, you contain such a remarkable smile. Something that could put the sun to shame, obscure the stars that shine so brightly. God, your skin. Effortless, flawless, angelic. Anything you could hope for, summed into one person. Most nights I often wondered how someone so perfect could be with me. How someone so wonderful could laugh at my jokes, someone so outstanding could be excited to see me. It forces me to believe that you care about me, even if I know you cannot. I dare not to tarnish years and years of friendship, for I believe I’ll ruin it, ruin the love that was there before. Even though every passing day as soon as you turn away, I feel my heart ache. It aches for you, and you alone. Everyone else vanishes when you smile at me. My debt in life and the people that grieve all leave, and it’s just you. Even though I have repeatedly talked about your looks, I have yet to get to the best part. You. How you act and what you do amazes me completely. You would stop to help everyone and often come home with empty pockets, the cause of you handing too much money out. That has never bothered me, I enjoy seeing your sheepish smile peek from behind our apartment door. You’re equal to a kitten, that’s how I would describe you. The energy combined inside of you never seems to run out, and you’re always excited to do anything. That is perhaps the part I love most about you; you’re a lot different than me. I am someone who cannot talk properly with others and despises going anywhere. My favorite spot is inside our home, in your arms. You are always happy to move around, and you never seem to be able to sit still. Sometimes, if I close my eyes, I can imagine we’re a couple. I can imagine feeling your body against mine, our lips locked together and our hands wandering. I can think about the long days at work, coming home to you. I can think about the possibilities that lay before you. I often cry at the thought of waking up to your wrinkled and aged face, a dog barking in the background and birds chirping outside of our house. It makes me weep, for I know I will never acquire something so beautiful. Something so happy has never been in my life, and I can barely imagine it ever will be. That is my fate, and tonight I am accepting it. You may be sad, but please do not cry. None of this is your fault, you cannot force yourself to love, or care, or see me as someone you could enjoy waking up to. This is my future, and I know I am meant to be in this spot, at this time. I am happy that you have not woken up to my sobs yet. This is truly hard for me to write, for the pain, I feel pouring out my feelings to you, feelings of honesty that have been trapped inside of me since my birth make me want to end it now. End the letter at this very last sentence. Although I won’t, why? I want you to remember me, remember your childhood friend that developed a crush that could never be fixed. I want to let you be happy whilst you read this. I am going to cramp my fingers to the point where I can’t even move them, as long as you smile at a moment of grief. I want so badly to just lie down next to you on the couch, wrapping my arms around you and just sleep. Just me and you, sleeping together in the most innocent way. I just lacked the courage, and you were beautiful and I was gawky and you were endlessly fascinating and I was hopelessly boring. You were the hurricane and I was the drizzle, so much more powerful than me in so many ways it would shock others. You are not mine, but sometimes I pretend you wish you were. I create this idea that you secretly want me; I often forget it’s just something I’ve made up. You do not want me, and you are not mine. I want you in the bluntest way, I want your lips, hands, arms. I want you the way the ocean wants the shore, constantly reaching for paradise, although running back. I want you the way rain wants to fall, sun wants to shine, the way words want to be read. No rain can douse the fire that I hold in me for you. Although these are just things I want, these are not the things I have. Instead, I have sweet smiles of passing days, hugs that attempt to patch back up who I think I am, small talk on the couch in the morning, and deep conversations on the porch at night. Instead, I have a pain where my heart is. Did you know there’s a name for it? La douleur exquise, meaning the heart-wrenching pain of wanting the affection of someone unattainable. Do you remember when we were kids, we would always talk about partying until 4 am when we got older? It’s quite ironic because little did we know that at 4 am I would be writing a suicide note. I feel bad about this, about leaving you. I don’t want to, yet we can all agree to love you was the most exquisite form of self-destruction, although I regret none of it. I don’t regret the countless nights I spent blushing in my room, you the only thing on my mind, for you always looked at me like there was something in me worth looking at. My life isn’t as enjoyable as before, and I don’t want it anymore. I truly wish I never fell in love with you, I might be living a happy life at the moment. Although do I regret meeting you? No, of course not. You have been there for me when no one else was, and I have been there for you when you couldn’t handle it anymore. We even each other out. I’m going to end this very soon, for my body is accepting its fate and beginning to ache. It’s aching a rest, a rest with constant dreams of you. I will never stop thinking of you because I love you. I’m sorry I have so many scars, I’m sorry that I can’t go a day without crying, I’m sorry for hating myself all the time, for always talking about my problems, and probably being annoying as hell, I’m sorry for not being perfect, but most of all I’m sorry that I’ll never be good enough for you.

Please write back to me soon, love.

   Dearly,        Andri

I wrote this for a community I was in for awhile that focused on creating love letters. They could be about anything you wanted, portray any feelings you wanted, and could contain anyone you wanted. It was a tad hard writing a love-filled suicide note, and incorporating different aspects of my style into a letter I feel too strongly for, even if I’ve never experienced a true heartbreak. The genders can be interpreted any way you want- and I just used my name at the end because it was the easiest.