dear you,

Last night I went through some old letters and notes I've kept in a box for years.  I've kept them all, or at least as many as I could, all except for two that I know of.  I'm a sentimental soul.  Nostalgia is a drug to me, but not like the weed "this-feels-so-good" drug.  More like the crystal meth "holy-crap-why-do-I-keep-doing-this?" kind.  I'm actually not sure if either of those descriptions are accurate, but you probably get my point.

While reading, I began to ask a lot of questions.  What kind of person was I?  Who have I become?  How have I changed?  Why?

Why?

Why?

***

It wasn't too long ago that you told me you couldn't wait to get to know me, or that you really wanted to be my friend.  Maybe we have different definitions of these things, or maybe I really did change your mind, just like I always said I would.  I'm not perfect, I can deal with that.  You said things in haste, and looking back now you find it foolish to even think you'd want to know me better.  And let's face it, what you meant by that was you liked me and thought I was someone who I wasn't.  I gave you fair warning.  I didn't pretend to be anyone except for myself.  I guess my first impression is just a little too honest, and that must have caught you off guard.

If I may, I'd like to be a little more honest with you.  Ruin even any sliver of a chance I might still have with you.  Would that be okay?  Really, I'm not sure of the best way to say this.  I've messed up a lot.  I've done a lot of things I'm not so proud of.  I've touched girls where I shouldn't have, both physically and emotionally.  I've hurt close friends, and I've hurt myself.  I'm weak.  I grew up without a father, learning from female figures my entire life how to be kind and emotional.  When I get the chance to be affectionate I forget how to say no, sometimes to the girl, always to myself.

I know this is a little much for me to tell you, but you have to understand: I'm not ready for another relationship, and I really need help, both to keep me away from them and to one day be ready.  I'm afraid that if I don't tell someone this, I will hurt another girl.  I will hurt myself again.  Do I want to date other girls?  Of course I do.  Am I ready?  Not at all.  I'm finding out there is a huge difference between want and readiness.  It's hard to admit to someone else, let alone myself.  I'm not saying you've got to be the one that saves me (okay, go ahead and sing "Wonderwall" real quick and get it out of your system).  This is just something I had to get out there, off my chest.

It feels a little better already.

Not really.

Once I send this to you there's no turning back.  You said you wanted to get to know me better.  You stopped asking questions, but I'm still giving answers.

sincerely,

vm