letters [joshler]

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Dear Josh,

You know I've written tons of these before. Letters like this. I think you've read some, actually. Like, that day you came over and I left the room for like five minutes because my mom wanted me, then I came back and you just looked at me differently.

Yeah. I noticed that.

I noticed the way you've looked at me differently and treated me like I was fragile ever since.

But, you know.

Rule number one of depression: You don't talk about depression.

But that's cool. You accept me in all my horrible, destructive, sad glory. And for that I thank you. I just wish you didn't act like I was something precious all the time. I wish you didn't act like if someone yelled at me I would shatter into a million pieces.

Sometimes it's cute. The way you defend me in public or glare at people who stare at my scars when I wear short sleeves.

But sometimes it makes me feel worse. It makes me feel like I'm not strong enough on my own to defend myself; like if you weren't there I wouldn't make it through the day or know what to do.

You treat me like I'm special.

But I can't tell you that. I can't tell you how it makes me feel inadequate sometimes. I know you'd take it the wrong way, and somehow I would mess it all up and it would sound like I was saying something else, and you'd leave.

God, I'm awful. Ha.

Oh well. I'll just lock this away somewhere you can't find it and read it.

Love you, Josh.

- Tyler