I always feel like I’m repeating myself when I write to you. I tell you how much I appreciate you, need you, wish you were here. I tell you that I wonder why the hell you want to be my friend when I’m so… challenging, shall we say. I mean, come on… most of the time, I’m not a lot of fun. Or any fun. But knowing you, you’ll say that I am. And I’ll know that you’re not ‘just being nice‘ because you don’t do that. Which I love.
I believe that you believe the things you tell me when you explain to me why I’m not the waste of space I think I am. I have never doubted your sincerity. But I feel your frustration at me not being able to believe those things within myself. I wish I could believe them for you. Yeah, for me, too. But for you.
Here is where you tell me that I’m crazy for wanting to do that for you when it’s about me feeling better… when I should want to do it for me. But I want to be a good friend. I want you to know that even though I fail, your belief in me helps me. You make more of an effort to understand me than anyone else in my life.
I don’t know what else to say… since I’ve said it all before. But I’ll repeat this again, too: Thank you.
p.s. — You know I’d be nervous as hell to get together if we were ever in the same damn state. I’d be having anxiety from hell. But I would do everything in my power to get myself there. Don’t you feel special?