Open Letter #2

Dear ——,

Open your eyes please.

Get past that box you’ve made—yes, that one, the one you put me in—in your attempt to understand the reason behind my missed sleep. The reason why I can only eat when I remember and drink when I recall. We’re two vastly different people, so it’s alright to not understand what’s going on inside my head. It’s okay to not know what I’m feeling, and if you do, it’s okay to stay silent. I actually prefer it that way. I like it.

Loneliness is sharp, but I’m certainly not alone. Sometimes I just favor… the quiet. Comfortable, comfortable silence.

Open your eyes and see that it’s not that I want to die, I just don’t particularly want to live either.

I know you’re trying to help, to provide comfort, and to tell me I’m not alone with my problems. Whatever they may be. Honestly, I know that. Because, really, yes really, I’m alright. I can get through today—as I always have—my mood is just a terribly volatile thing. My lows are ridiculous with their intensity.

So, open your eyes and see that your presence alone is comforting. Perhaps the only one I need—so please stop making that face—mood swings are a part of me, they always have been. And some of my wisest lines have been uttered during them. I wouldn’t change them for the world.

I’m not going to disappear. What would be the point? You’re here.

And, more often than I’d like to admit, it’s the reason I am, too.

—N. Rinth

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