An unsent farewell letter to a former friend
From the moment you saw me head-banging to a French lullaby, you knew I was different. You even cited this as the reason why you approached me in French class, knowing we would become friends. You knew there was something different about me that resonated with you. There was. I was different. For better or worse, everyone saw I was different; but they saw neither the pain, nor the self-destructive behaviors that were holding me back. Now that I’ve broken free of the emotional prison I built for myself have journeyed down the path to healing my trauma, it’s time you know the full story. I write this to letter continue the healing journey from my childhood, not to reconnect with you.
Dating all the way back to even pre-school, I remember being bullied. In the very beginning, I stood up for myself. I was even written up a few times. My teacher even wrote a note about me standing up for myself during a parent-teacher conference in preschool. In grade school, I also got in trouble for putting a goldfish into a bully’s chocolate milk. Eventually, I’m ashamed to admit that I broke. I stopped standing up for myself.
Sitting alone on the curb one day at recess in fifth grade, I was thinking about suicide. I was in fifth grade and in a very dark place. I was being bullied relentlessly and was being emotionally neglected at home. When I had attempted to talk to my mom about what I was going through, I was yelled at and told I needed to “toughen up.” Between being bullied, an emotionally toxic environment at home, and zero outlets for any of the big feelings I was having, an emotional stockpile started to assemble and brick by brick an emotional wall was constructed. Some days it felt a mile thick. Others, as thin as paper. I continually felt like I was walking on eggshells in my own life, living in fear, ridicule, and shame on a daily basis.
In middle school, the bullying escalated to almost being killed in gym class via a can of spray deodorant while two bullies laughed in torment. Afterwards, I might have appeared okay on the surface, this event has been brought up in therapy many times. Almost dying changed me for the worse and I emotionally withdrew, fortifying my emotional wall even further just to survive.
The bullying continued through high school. I’m not sure how many students were aware of this, but our school had a policy where if there’s an altercation between students, all parties got in trouble. Even if one student is mercilessly beating another student without reciprocity, both students would get into trouble. This policy was weaponized by my mom who told me to be agreeable and to not escalate – that it wasn’t worth hurting my chances of getting into a good college.
Sophomore year of high school, during a moment of learning in French class, I was within my “Window of Tolerance” (CPTSD term) and feeling momentarily comfortable just being myself and having fun listening to a French lullaby. You saw the real me for a moment there and we connected.
We connected and grew to be best friends. I printed out lyrics to songs and left them on your homeroom desk. I gave you that empty bottle of grape soda filled with knickknacks and their meanings. You said it was the best gift you’ve ever received. My actions were trying to tell you what my words never did, they never could back then. I had been so conditioned by years of trauma that I was never direct with you about the feelings I had developed for you. Others noticed –several of your partners even asked if I had feelings for you. You never looked at me that way, and to be fair … I don’t blame you. I was a freaking mess, held together by chewing gum and bailing wire.
Despite our separation in college, my feelings didn’t change. I continued to be there for you and even agreed to pet-sit in Connecticut when you were unavailable. I stayed up on the phone with you long into the early morning hours, listening to you complain about your most recent relationship woes. Years later, you told me that you were proposed to. You were my first love and committing your life to someone else. I don’t blame you, or hold any feelings against you whatsoever for this. You didn’t even know how I felt towards you, trapped by trauma and emotional pain. I felt immeasurable and unbounded sadness in the situation and in myself for not speaking my truth. I bounced between hyperarousal and hypoarousal for a while, having my emotions vary between feeling numb and then way too much. Eventually an old self-protection mechanism kicked in. You were my best friend. I was your best friend … and I cut off all contact with you in an emotional response. You deserved better – I was just unable to do any better. All the feelings I was having were all so overwhelming. This trauma response was the best I could manage. I felt shame about doing this for a long time. After I cut off contact with you, the experience of watching SpongeBob changed from an enjoyable, silly cartoon to a painful reminder of the highly traumatized person I used to be that led me to where I was.
Some have the luxury of building their lives from a place of emotional stability, with emotionally responsive, loving, caring, attentive parents. I was not provided such a luxury in life. The foundations I was provided were broken, and so I had to build from scratch. After a suicide attempt landed me in a hospital, I spent a lot of time asking myself who I was, what mattered to me, and who I even was as a person. I went through a gender transition and I was trying to start my life over, unburdened by my past. I had met someone and felt like I had a chance at something real, something tangible – a real, healthy relationship I could call my own. This is when I broke my silence with you and reached out for a video call. So much had changed, and yet so much hadn’t.
After that call, the person I was seeing at the time connected the dots. Between SpongeBob being a sore subject, her historical knowledge surrounding my childhood, and my demeanor summarizing reconnecting with you, they had felt threatened. As a result, you were blocked for a second time in my life to save my relationship. While I felt shitty about doing this, a part of me thought maybe it was best to simply move on and shut out everything from my past. You had never seen me as anything other than a friend after all.
Run away as someone may, no one can escape their past – but they can become unburdened by it. To this day, I am still working on unburdening myself. I have an EMDR certified LCSW who’s helping me cut the emotional strings to my past. I have heard that writing can help with this process, so I’m working on writing a book. While I don’t know when or even if it’ll ever be published, I truly believe a book will help me process the trauma I went through as a kid. I just feel remorseful that you got dragged into all this.
Honestly, I wouldn’t blame you if your response to all this is “F**k you, I don’t care. You treated me horribly and I don’t care about your feelings.” I would deserve it and worse. Truthfully, the reasoning behind writing this is not to attempt to get back in contact with you, but to say goodbye. You’ve taken up too much of my headspace for far too long. I loved you and was too traumatized to be direct about it. Then I cut you off, not once, but twice. I feel shame about my interactions with you, but you were a great friend. I hoped this letter connected some more of the details behind my behavior and provide you some explanations. All I’ve ever wanted is peace, but trauma is a bitch.
I’m tired of being in survival mode, tired of being on-edge all the time, tired of being scared, tired of my own bullshit standing in my own way. I’m tired of so many explanations coming down events in my childhood. I’m just so, so tired of not feeling whole. Trauma is fucking exhausting. This is no excuse for my behavior, but it is an explanation.
People in the know about my parents have called them “monsters” for the things they’ve said and done to me. You could probably call me the same for cutting you out of my life twice, and I’d deserve it. I know I destroyed the relationship we had.
I sincerely hope you have a great life, and I apologize for my behavior.
Farewell, Cookie Monster
Feed The Good Wolf 
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