The Letter I'll Never Send

 I hope you are safe and as well as you can be.

I find myself thinking of you every now and then, and I worry. I haven't heard from you, and I'm sure you have your reasons, but I worry, nonetheless. So long as you're alive, I can be content.

I know how difficult it is to talk, even just a "hello". How heavy it feels beneath the expectations everyone seems to place on you.

I've seen how you struggle, even when you put on a smile. It hurts to watch you, as I sit virtually powerless within my own limbo.

You have your coping mechanisms, at least. I am grateful that they've kept you alive, even when they bring you closer to death. But that's our reality: indulging the taste of death as we struggle to live.

I could never expect you to give that up, especially considering that I am not much better. I understand the futility of looking beyond and finding nothing.

Yet the whole world seems to think it's as easy as just going to a shelter, or a psych ward, or a rehab. We just need to be straightened out, made into upstanding members of the community.

What community? Hardly have I seen a community in the "communities" around me.

I've seen networking; pent up envy and injustice to keep these pesky needed connections. Secrets and betrayal run rampant in these "communities" meant to benefit off of and police each other, rather than growing with and nurturing each other.

I've found the latter community with you. I hope you've found it with me. I want to be a better friend, a better community.

Yet, how tricky it is when we're all separated. How unfortunate that we all share the same coping mechanism: to run away. How unfortunate that the world sees us as a threat in numbers. How unfortunate that our previous meeting might be our final.

There is no pressure or expectation I seek to put on you to reply. Take the time you need. But as you find yourself aimlessly drifting through the chasm of your mind, know that you have a place in mine. Know that your existence in of itself keeps me hopeful.