Okay, so, I'm working really hard on a new chapter but I found this mushy thing in my drafts today and I can't not post it... pls still love me.
Dear Ol' Saint Nick,
If we were being completely honest, I never really believed in you, I still don't think I do. Sure I come from a perfectly fine family, my mom, me, and Elliot, my little brother but I guess you knew that, right? That's all we ever needed, each other and with Dad out of the picture, I never really experienced anything else except that. All we had was each other, not some old man who shimmed his way down our chimney -or fire escape, I don't really know how it works- every Christmas Eve and planted presents that mom definitely couldn't afford and even worse, we appreciated her too much to let her hard-earned money and amazing gifts be discredited and taken by a man we didn't need. No offense, of course.
Safe to say, I never had faith in anything and I wasn't even sure if I was Christian, kinda have to be to celebrate Christmas though, right? I'm sorry, I don't really know how to do this type of shit- fuck, sorry. I didn't mean to curse or anything, I know you're like some big family man. Anyways, we never really went to church, except for those once-in-a-blue-moon times when my mother's mother visited just to tell Mom everything she was doing wrong.
Safe to say, Mom didn't have it any easier.
With having to work two jobs in a time where she didn't want to accept any hand-outs and that being pulled from underneath her at the economic decline, she eventually had to settle for what she loathed, taking it out of Great Grandpa's will. We were better off, sure but guilt weighed her down and she eventually started losing herself, getting put on anti-depressants a year later. We were all a little screwed by then, Elliot with his diabetes, Mom with her depression and me and my anger issues but we got by, therapy playing a big role.
Sure, therapy sucked, it was... Well, it was Hell but I did make a friend. I met Jeremy that year, he saved my life and I fucked him over; I always fought and he never failed to be there for me but the one time he needed me, was on his death bed, I disappointed. But I guess I've always been a bit of a disappointment, in football, in friendships, in life.
That's just how it was.
A year after that, I'd gotten in my worst fight. Broke my hand, punched his nose into his skull, nearly killed the guy and I'd been so far gone. I don't regret it though, he'd victimized a prison who didn't deserve it and I was done with people being treated like shit. Juvenile Detention was the best method and really, it wasn't all bad. I found a group of acquaintances there, the only one I remember now is Bobby, got out and became a tattoo artist... Actually, she did my first tattoo when I finally was seen fit for civilization.
I'd seen a lot in that center, Hell, I'd seen a kid die... My first roommate, hyperventilated in the shower, drowned himself. I knew they thought I did it, thought I killed him with a pillow and at the time, my issues were so bad that if he'd gotten me mad enough, I probably could. His name was Charlie, went to his funeral that year. Cried with his family that year. I still don't like talking about anything that happened in juvie, can't stand thinking about it. He was young, fuck, I could've helped... I could've done something.
And then I got out, but you know that, right? It was five months into that void of self-loathing and pulled too far into the self-inflicted pain. I'd gotten a label, never participated again, cared less about school since I'd told my mother to use my college fund -a measly five hundred- to pay off her prescription and buy Eli's insulin for at least a couple months.
I hated myself after that, hated my situation, hated how isolated I was... and then there was this girl, well, there is this girl.
She's sarcastic and stubborn and beautiful and wild yet stable and she's so perfect, she's so, so perfect. She's everything. She makes me happy and I didn't think I could feel this much and sure she infuriates me and my God, sometimes, I just don't want to feel this much for her because that scares me when she's so fearless. Except she's fragile; she's addictive and I don't think I'd ever be able to let go. Maybe I'm a bit too dependent, maybe that's unhealthy.
But I need Emerson Beatrice Riley, a 5'7 seventeen year old girl with soft curls and an amazing head on her shoulders. I love her, I love her so much I don't think I could love anyone anymore. She made me understand what faith was, helped me get rid of some of my self-hate; I didn't know what it felt like to truly hate myself after that because she opened my eyes. She pulled my closed fists open, could stop me on the brink of insanity. I need her for this Christmas and every Christmas and preferably until we're old and white-haired -like you- and she smiles that perfect little smile at me, her eyes just as brown as the day I met her and skin just as contrasting to mine but that's fine. I need to be able to look over at her when I'm old and that's when my life will be complete. When I'm so in love I can barely breathe.
Maybe that's why I'm writing to you, Nick -I'm not calling you Santa- maybe that's why I'm writing to you right now and telling you my shitty story. I'm asking you to, although she deserves so much more, make sure she stays in my life.
That's all you can give me, all I want and I won't bug you again.
-Oliver J. Remmer