To: yikes!izzy
Subject: Re: imperfect words
Fine, Isabel. You want me to tell you the other stuff? You want me to punish you? Will that make you feel better? I used to think I understood you, but now I’m not so sure any more. So even though I don’t think you know what you’re talking about, I’ll do what you tell me. Because that’s what I’ve always been good at, isn’t it? At least lately. Maybe this summer we were something like equals, with you perhaps the more colorful one. But there was a give and take, a reciprocity that hasn’t been there for a long time. Yes, you’ve been selfish. The world has revolved around you, your need has sucked up everything I could possibly give. You have never shown the slightest interest in my life. That is not friendship. That is not what friends do. You have been a horrible fucking friend, and a smarter person would have given up on you a long time ago.
But I am obviously not that smart. And I’ve started to hate myself for it, for giving everything to you so freely. The fucked-up thing is that you never forced me to do anything. It was all my choice. Don’t you see? I’ve wanted to love you all this time; I’ve wanted to dote on you and heal you and lose myself. And part of me wants to blame you, wants to hate you for that, but deep down I know it’s my issue, not yours. No one can really make anyone do anything unless they have a gun to their head. And maybe you could say you had a sort of emotional gun to my head. Maybe your sorrow and confusion and mania and danger scared me into submission. And maybe you have some responsibility in that. God, I don’t fucking know anymore.
Do you want to know what I’m really upset about? And by upset, I mean scared, not angry. I was scared every time you refused help, every time someone who loved you said they were worried about you and you responded as if they wanted to hurt you. Even though you knew your life was unraveling, that you were unraveling, you still thought you had control. You wouldn’t accept that maybe somebody knew better than you. And that stubbornness took you away from us, away from yourself. That stubbornness will kill you if you don’t give it up. And I cannot accept that. I will not let that happen.
Isabel, listen to me. You will take those fucking pills and you won’t whine about it. You will talk to the doctors and do what they tell you and you will get better. It may not be easy. It may be hard work. It may be the hardest and most painful thing you’ve ever had to go through. But whoever said life was supposed to be easy? Whoever said you were entitled to some sort of charmed life? People struggle, Isabel. That’s part of life. Just because you’re beautiful and brilliant and talented does not mean you’re exempt from pain.
Fuck, I don’t know if anything I say even gets through to you. I don’t know if anything I do makes any difference at all.
Connor