A letter to the girl in the corner.

I am you. Trying to stay out of the light. Trying to get by without being noticed. Trying to avoid whatever it is that sent you into this corner to begin with.

I’m usually trying to avoid anything that will send me into yet another anxiety attack. Trying to avoid the stuttering and of beat breathing and the inability to form coherent thoughts in a normal response time.
Sometimes I stay in that corner long enough to just catch my breath. Other times I’m there so long I should change my address. I’m there long enough to feel like “Ok, you can face the world again” and then I step out of the corner that me safe. And in those moments I feel like me.
You know those moments, the ones where your smile is real and genuine and you can laugh without it being forced. Oh how I live for& love those moments, how I love those moments. The moments where I see a brief flash of the Reggie I was before anxiety and depression started to rule my life.
Oh but how few and far between those moments are. It feels like I blink and poof I am scurrying back to that corner. Back to so called safety. It isn’t though, it isn’t safe. The darkness of that corner is where the anxiety and depression live, it’s where they wait for me. I hate that corner. I hate that it loves me and seems so inviting from the middle of the room.
I’m tired of that corner. I’m tired of the battle with these monsters. Its a losing battle it feels like. And I’m tired of losing. My only choice in this battle I’m tired of fighting are to win or give up and I want to win, I will win. It will take time I know, and lots of prayer. I can do this.

Keep searching for Fireflies. 

Reggie

An open letter to the uncle that disappeared,

I called you my hero. Not just because your job as a fireman made you one but because I looked up to you. You didn’t let any obstacles in life stop you from achieving your dreams. I mean maybe you still don’t. I wouldn’t know though. 

I remember one of the last times I talked to you. I was lying in a hospital bed and scared out of my mind. I was barely 16 and almost dying. You were telling me you’d studied what my problem was and knew a man who had seen one up close. That the insides looked like butter and cheese. You were trying to make me laugh. I had just finished a project on you for a class. A project on heros. 

When you cut off contact it hurt the most. M&E didn’t hurt me like you did. M had told me for years I didn’t have to call her aunt and E was barely older than me. 

I grieved your loss as of you had died though. You had died and there was no funeral. No closure. So I’m writing this to try and get some closure. Isn’t that what your therapist told you to do? Isn’t that why you sent that heartbreaking email to mom? The woman who had basically raised you? 

You’ll never read this though. You’ve probably forgotten I exist, you didn’t know “Reggie” anyways so if you do stumble upon this it will hold no meaning. I’m mad at you. I have been for years. 

I forgive you though. For hurting me. For forgetting where you came from. For crushing the heart of a girl who thought you hung the moon and stars in the sky. 

I hope you’re safe. I hope your rescue family has your back. I hope your wife and little boy are happy and healthy. I hope one day you remember your family and when you do you smile. 

I hope you watch for fireflies and even if you don’t understand why I hope the light up your heart. 
I love you. 
Reggie.