dear daniel,
first and foremost, this isnt a letter to say i miss you. i dont. I'm not trying to reminiscence about the good days or write in anger and say i hate you for cheating on me or to tell you despite it all i forgave you. those things dont matter to me, and they dont mean anything anymore. i am regretful of a lot. and im not going to spew some nonsense that "im grateful it happened and i learned a lot" because i am not grateful it happened and i hate that it did. i survived because i had too. the only way out was through, like it always is.
its been a little over two years now. its kinda funny that after all this time you still cross my mind, but its less frequent now. i can say your name without flinching but i still hesitate. i stopped seeing my therapist about it because i dont shake anymore when your sister mentions you. i dont get nightmares anymore.
the thing is i associate you with a lot of the bad stuff that happened in my life, in a way you were a scapegoat for all my problems. to be fair it all started with you, and i found a way to tie it all back to the morning of your birthday. i found myself thinking i wouldn't be in this position if that didn't happened. i kept blaming you, and that fueled the fire for a lot of bad decisions i made. i was obsessed with focusing on trying to better understand you and what you did to me instead of moving forward. and i was the one at fault for that.
ive known you for longer than you knew me. back then, i believe i knew you more than you knew yourself at times. but the belief that because i knew you better than anyone else, if i could just take all of that and use it to- turn myself into you, this whole shit hole would make sense. so i did. i turned off my emotions, my attachment. and not only did i hurt a lot of people trying to get to you, i got what i was searching for that whole year. understanding. i reached a depth that was far past relationships and dating and love. i felt like i finally understood how your brain works, the choices in your life made sense. your drive, your hunger, and the ugly parts of your ego. i understood it all.
there's this rhetoric about trauma-- someone said be grateful you don't have the capacity to understand why they did what they did. ignorance is treated as a luxury, and it was one i didn't have. my anxiety needed to know everything, it was the type of vibrating hunger that sat under my finger tips, all just to find out why? that's why i read that Google Docs that you wrote, why I went through your phone on numerous occasions, read through your Notes apps. I am more than aware of how that is questionable morally (honestly wouldn't blame you for calling it crazy, because it was), but this itch of needing to know what was never disclosed to me was insatiable. you were quiet, you sat with your thoughts a lot, and I could see each cog turning despite you saying otherwise. i thought that if i could just get it, be on the same plane as you, maybe it would make sense. maybe i could be there for you in the way that suited you. maybe i wouldn't be left behind if i made myself indispensable.
was it manipulation? maybe. yeah im well aware i wasnt perfect, hell-- i probably drew blood in a way that was unnoticeable. my therapist said my issue was projection. she said it like it was my undoing, this thing in my chest that feels too much, a by product of my empathy. and looking back at it-- holy was i way in over my head. i was so young--we were so young, just kids. there were so many things i didn't understand then no matter how hard i tried to because i was at the precipice of starting my own life. i was naivee and dumb and stupidly in love with someone that had a lot pain and hurt--something i didnt get until later. until i was ostracized by my family. betrayed by my own mother. my friends. having no where to go, couch surfing until i could afford my own place. experiencing death, loneliness, depression. finding solace in strangers beds, piling bodies, drinking until i couldn't remember. crushing pills and smoking till my brain was numb. i was alone. only then, was i able to understand pain--understand you. understand wanting to run away, understand pushing people away. understand feeling like you're not a good person.
and even then thats just the tip of the iceberg, right? who can truly quantify their experiences, especially yours. everything is just nuanced bullshit and heartache and spitfire till it boils down to whether or not you allow it to destroy you. i did. and that wasnt an easy thing to feel, it killed me understanding what you meant when you told me that night you didn't feel like a good person. i let it seethe out of me and i burned people i didnt know i could.
god i didn't realize how different we were back then, and i didnt know how to bridge that gap to get to you. and when i figured it out, i got more than what i bargained for. i know you can never fully understand the extent of people's emotions and decisions but damn i think i came pretty damn close. it used to make me so angry that i could sympathized, angrier that despite there being no excuse or justification for what you did- i fucking get it. and i used to hate myself so much for talking it so far to understand the unimaginable. you were a shitty person, but what did that make me?
your sister told me the difference between me and you was that i was actively trying to be better. to repair the damage, to make sure i didnt do the same thing to someone that you did to me. and god knows i came close, i had to learn to forgive myself for it. im still learning how.
we don't know eachother anymore. your practically a stranger now. its kinda crazy at one point there was a versions of you that knew my secrets the way i knew yours. but this letter isnt for you. this isnt to daniel now. this is to daniel four years ago, the one that existed with me--my first love. thats why you'll never read this. because it isnt for you.
it never will be.

