My Dear Jon Letter

I would imagine that you're feeling blessed by all of your supporters, and would have to spend months thanking everybody if they came by your house one by one. That's the great part about opening up your life to the world, the sympathizers, the understanding listeners, the loyal fans who will always remind you that you are not alone.

But you and Heather kind of do that for me, Jon. I know the depression, the cruel rhythms of cyclothymia, the anxiety that somehow manages to undermine one and convince us that nothing will ever be OK again. Even in a neutral point in my life, remembering those feelings makes me want to cry.

It's not just the mental illness issues though, not exactly. It's seeing that I'm not crazy for wanting a child, that I could possibly have one or two or a million without ruining their or my lives. The aching pain of a young woman starting her maternal yearnings combines with my eternal fear that it is not the world that is wrong, just me.

I don't think I can ever really explain to you how much it means to me that you let me into your life like this, especially at this point in time. I just want you to know that you give me hope that one day I could be a good mother.

Give Chuck and The Crackhead my best.

Dear World

Here's a novel concept, taking responsibility for who I am and what I become. All of those who deny were over before they ever began. For every sin and saintly act, my face is there next to it. I am not ashamed, I am nothing more and nothing less than human. My range of emotions is so vast, the ocean means nothing, and thus creates a neverending line of consequences and rewards. I will never fight who I am or what I want; I am the ultimate hedonist, refusing to be my own greatest failure. Say what you will, but there is one thing you can never deny: I stand up for myself and what I believe. Ask me, and I will tell you the truth, simply because I stand by myself.

Dear New Guy

We've seen each other around for years, even working together for a bit, but I guess we were always just missing each other.

Honestly, you found me at a really bad time. Still pretty angry, a little cynical, and a lot closed off. But being with you, I don't feel any of that.

I don't know where this will lead, but right now I'm really glad that we're together for the moment. You make me laugh, and I make you laugh, and you really get how to listen even when I'm not talking. I can easily see loving you, and I don't have to hope that you feel the same way; I know how you feel, this isn't a relationship of doubt and worry that I'm so used to.

You make me happy.

Dear Universe

My nineteen years have been filled with quite a bit of doubt and apathy towards the idea of a higher being, the idea that maybe I don't have as much control of my life as I'd like. Yet one day, You'd had enough and You saw fit to show me how much You existed, how much You really did have a finger in my life, and how it was ok if I didn't always understand.

No, You didn't punish me. You set me up on a blind date.

I remember surprisingly clearly, given that so much of my life has been lived in a fog. I remember that our German Shepherd runt which we had so long regarded as a puppy, now lay by the tree in the side yard dying of old age. Sierra had survived birth, Parvo, a life long supply of ear infections, and multiple come uppances with the local crawdads. And early Easter morning, Sierra passed, before her mother but still having lived a long, teenage life.

Normally looking for a dog wasn't my family's style. Normally we would have accepted the passing of our very old dog and move on to take care of the two remaining ones; the last German Shephard of our pack, the devoted mother and wife of our dogs, and our rambunctious Labrador, little more than a puppy. Yet no one questioned why we so automatically got on the computer Easter morning and started browsing the animal shelter's website.

That's where You first made your appearance, Universe. Browsing through pages and pages of beautiful, well-behaved dogs, and for some reason you saw fit to stop me on a Big Brown Dog. There was nothing terribly special about him, just big and brown. But I knew he was the one.

When we went into the animal shelter the next day, my heart broke when they told us that there was no way we would find my Big Brown Dog without a serial number, which I had of course forgotten to write down. This was a no-kill shelter, and there were acres and acres of dogs begging to be loved.

You wouldn't let me be though, Universe, and for that I am so grateful. While my family went back to browse the kennels all in order, one by one, I wandered. The second kennel I walked into, there he was. I never looked back from there. As he cowered in the corner of his kennel, I knew he was mine. As we put the leash on him and he dragged me into the courtyard, I knew he was mine. Even as we fought tangles in the leash as he tumbled with our Lab, I knew he was mine.

To this day, there is nothing out of the ordinary about this dog. He's my Big Brown Dog. He's got a ridge on his back which I affectionately dub his mohawk, and he's sweet as sugar. As I write this, he sleeps beside me, underneath my hot pink baby blanket, and twitches at the occasional dream of a rabbit or a cat. Maybe he even dreams about me. I don't really think my Big Brown Dog and I are changing the world, or anything magnificent as that, but I love him and he loves me, and at the end of the day that's what really counts.

So I guess this is a thank you letter, Universe. This is a thank you for helping me be a healthier and happier person. This is a thank you for bringing me together with my soul mate, who has on more than one occasion saved my life.

Thank you for my Big Brown Dog.

Dear Mr. Black

You may not remember me from last night, everybody was pretty awfully gone. But I'll remember you. So maybe I'll pretend you remember me. I'll pretend you don't think I'm lame and I'll pretend like that text I sent to your friend will eventually wind its way to you, and you'll smile and think of me. Do you remember how we talked about how sometimes we love so much it hurts? Do you remember how we talked about how our kindness could change the world?

Your kindness, for an instant, changed my world. You didn't have to be kind to me the way you were, you could have been like every other person in the world, fun and friendly yet still so apathetic. But you weren't...at least I don't think so. I don't know you. I met you once when you were drunk, but that's ok. Right now, that's who you are to me. In an instant you had a conversation with me that I've been dying to have with someone, you smiled with me, you held me while I fell asleep in your lap, so far away from everybody else, and you kissed me. And in one instant, you stole a little piece of my heart.

I'll probably never see you again Mr. Black. The part of me that is guarded and has become more aware as the need to protect myself grows says it's best that I never see you again, but the part of me that so desperately craves the love I see in me, in another's body, hopes that we cross paths again. The funny thing is though, even if we don't, you had me from hello and nothing in the world can change the fact that in one drunken conversation I gave you a piece of me. Enjoy it.

I find in you what feels like home.

Dear Heartbreaker

The most random things remind me of you. This time it was just sitting in the bath, when I remembered your past trust for me. And that reminds me of my trust for you, isn't it funny where a string of thought leads? I remember telling you I thought I was pregnant, that even though we had slept together, it wouldn't be yours. I denied it so much back then, but the truth is I made a lot of mistakes before I learned. You could have been mad, and I would have said nothing. I already loved you so much, and you deserved so much better than me. Instead you bought me that test, hugged me while I cried, found a place where we could be together and wait for the result. You said you would tell everybody it was yours. The kindness you showed to me still sits in my stomach. Yet the tables turn. When I wasn't knocked up, you would do anything for me, yet when I came to you once again, this time positive...you wanted me to abort. You wanted nothing to do with me. It was just another game that someone had to lose, I suppose. I miss you so much.

Dear Past Lover

I hate to be the person who forgets the good and remembers the bad, but here I am. The moments of concentration we had were nothing moments, hardly comparable to the moments of pain you caused me. You know my wiring and you pushed the buttons every chance you got. The memories of you that still make me smile aren't comparable to every slap in the jeep, every slam in the wall, every angry, broken word. I know sometimes I caused it. I thrived off your anger like you thrived off my pain. We're two wristcutters cutting the throats of each other. I fell asleep thinking about falling into your eyes while I smelled the smoke of that other girl. The advice you gave was fake, how kind of you to pretend you wanted me to be better. I was best for you, a source to feed. Yet you could live without me, there are a million vulnerable girls in this world. So here's the last pieces of my heart Kris. I willingly give them to you. They should feed you as you climb your way out of this rut. I loved you, and you could give me anything but.