what sandra thinks

Dear Marvel,

What the fuck is wrong with you? Seriously. What were you thinking with Thor in Endgame? Fat Thor? Really? Did you want to ruin the movie for me? Well, good fucking job.

Come on. He could have been wrecked without losing the abs.

You suck.

Love,

p.s. — (To my readers) I didn’t say ‘spoiler alert’ because, come on, if you haven’t seen Endgame by now, you just don’t care.

         
©2020 what sandra thinks

Dear Lucifer,

Please hurry back.

I miss you.

Love,

p.s. — I know… it’s the fucking quarantine holding shit up. But I can’t wait. It may be time to re-watch the whole series.

         
©2020 what sandra thinks

Dear Ken,

Sometimes, I really wish we hadn’t drifted apart. You were my best friend in high school. We even had a crush on the same guy, but it never got awkward. Maybe because neither of us could have him.

I was heartbroken when you moved away. But even when you came back, we picked up right where we left off. Then college happened, and we were apart again. And now you have your husband and your kids and your life in NYC… and I’m just… here.

Maybe things would be different if I wasn’t embarrassed at how my life has turned out. Maybe then I wouldn’t have been afraid to contact you over the years. In my heart, I know you would never judge me, but I couldn’t get past my fears. I’m a failure, and I just couldn’t bear you knowing that… so I hid. I still hide.

I’ve lost touch with a lot of people over the years, but you’re one of the ones I miss the most.

Love,

p.s. — Whenever I hear ‘Losing My Religion’ I remember that time we went to the Cape and drove around in the dark singing that song. And then we went to the beach and saw a million stars. Can’t see stars like that in the city. We had such fun back then…

         
©2020 what sandra thinks

Dear J***,

I remember why I used your name in the first story I ever wrote, and now, so many years later, I still can’t let you go.

I know I shouldn’t use you in every story I write. Maybe it makes all of my leading men too similar. I don’t think it does, but even if it did, I don’t think I care. I can’t stop with you.

I think I’ve developed an unhealthy obsession. But is it really unhealthy if you, imaginary guy, make me happy?

And, damn, those abs… and that sexy hair… and those strong arms… *sigh*

I seriously love you.

p.s. — Those asterisks are random. I’m not giving anything away… not even the number of letters in his name. I just can’t tell anyone. It’s too close to my heart… and I want to keep it for myself and myself alone. I’m sure this makes me weird, but he’s just… mine. Every story I’ve ever published on this blog has had name changes because I can’t share him. Hmm… maybe I am too attached. Eh… I don’t care. He’s the real (although not real) love of my life.

p.p.s. — That picture is one of many I’ve collected that resemble my imaginary man. 

p.p.p.s. — The more I write in this post, the more insane I sound. Just letting you know that I do realize this.

         
©2020 what sandra thinks

Dear Introverts,

I’m with you. I’m one of you. But I think sometimes people misunderstand us. (Or is that just me?)

I don’t know about you, but I find that people sometimes think I’m a snob. They think I think I’m too good for them. The funny (not funny haha) thing is… in reality, I feel the opposite. I feel that everyone is too good for me. Okay, not everyone. But you know what I mean.

How is it for you? I know I’m like other introverts in many ways, but then my MH issues get thrown into the mix, and that magnifies things. And I hope you don’t feel the same way I so often feel.

I’ve never felt good enough. I’ve always felt that the extroverts are somehow ‘better’ because they’re so good with people, whereas I am not. They can do things I cannot. They can land jobs I cannot. They can handle a crowded room with ease but I cannot. I will go out of my way to keep communication in written form rather than talk to or, god forbid, see someone.

Are you as awkward around people as I am? Like, all the time, but especially in person? It’s why I wrote a letter to my family (that I’ll likely never send) instead of talking to them. Yeah, I’m even awkward with my family. It’s not as bad with them, but still…

Anyway, even if some of us are too busy writing, reading, and following other solo pursuits, it’s nice to know there are like-minded people out there. Because generally speaking, I hate people. Okay, not all people. Just most of them.

Perhaps weirdest of all, though, is that my best friend… the girl who lives hundreds of miles away but always manages to be there for me… is a total extrovert. Then again, I do think she’s too good for me.

p.s. — Now she’s going to fight with me because she hates when I say things like that!

         
©2020 what sandra thinks

I made a few passes at this one…

Dear Husband,

I started writing to you but it felt familiar. Too familiar. So I did a search on my own blog, and it all came back to me. Last year, my A-to-Z theme was ‘I was just thinking…’ in which I wrote whatever I was thinking (like that really required an explanation). Guess what I wrote about for H? Right… husband. I even continued that post into I (for imagination…). I’ve decided that I don’t want to essentially rewrite those posts in letter form so I’m ending this now.

Dear Help,

Where are you when I need you? I don’t even know where to send this letter, so maybe I’ll roll it up, stick it in a bottle, and throw it into the sea. A shark will probably eat it.

Dear Hope,

You really don’t even exist for me so I have no idea why I would write you a letter.

Dear Hostess,

Thanks for being part of my childhood. You bring back great memories. Yes, many of my memories are tied to food. Is that normal?

At this point in my life, I have no idea how I could ever have loved Twinkies the most. Nope. Now I want the apple pies, powdered donuts, and cupcakes. And I mean the original chocolate cupcakes, none of those offensive new varieties you’ve put out there. I’ve even baked cakes and cupcakes in your image. I’m cute, I know.

I also want to apologize for not bringing you home very often. But I have no control when you’re around, and while eating an entire box of your cupcakes seems like a great idea, I know it would only end in regret.

We had a scare back in 2012 when you went bankrupt. But thankfully, you came back to me. Now if I could only get back tiny Chiclets and those yummy Morton frozen donuts Mom used to buy…

p.s. — Now I’ve given myself a craving and I can’t even go out and buy powdered donuts…

         
©2020 what sandra thinks

Dear Glen,

I’ve been meaning to write for a long time. I probably should have done it ages ago because I think we’re still technically together even though I haven’t seen you since I was 18. It’s your fault, you know. You abandoned me… but you never broke up with me.

So this is me… breaking up with you.

p.s. — Do you ever think of me? I wonder. Probably not… we were a long time ago. But I remember everything, good and bad. You were a surprise… you were my first love.

         
©2020 what sandra thinks

Dear Family,

I’ve been wanting to write this to you for a long time, but I didn’t have the courage to send it so what would be the point? I still don’t think I have the courage, so if you’re reading this, I’m not sure how I managed to get it to you.

I don’t know exactly what you think of me. I don’t know what you think I feel… who you think I am. But I have thought for so long that you should know… because I’d be willing to bet it’s not what you think.

This is not me being upset that you don’t understand me. I don’t expect you to understand. And unless you’re me, you won’t… you couldn’t. That’s why I wanted to write this—so you would have an idea what my life is like. Just telling you that I’ve been ‘sad and anxious’ every once in a while doesn’t begin to touch my reality.

When I wake up each morning, my thoughts aren’t about what I’m going to do today. They’re about how I’m going to make it through the day… because I never think I’m going to. I make lists in my head and on paper of things to do. I have no shortage of things to add to those lists. But I do none of them. I’m not lazy, I’m incapable. Okay, maybe I am lazy… but why I’m lazy is the issue. I have no drive… no motivation. My head just keeps repeating, ‘what’s the point?’

It’s difficult to explain how hard it is for me to simply ‘do stuff’. I see how productive people are and I’m envious. Then I see myself. Doing the tiniest thing is like moving a mountain. Many days, even getting out of bed feels impossible. With what’s going on in the world right now, people have more time to do things. And they do them. People have accomplished more in a month than I have in years. I’m ‘lucky‘ I always have time due to my lack of job, yet I incapable of using that time to my advantage. I feel like such a failure. And I’m always thinking, ‘What the hell is wrong with me?‘… even though I know.

My NP tells me that I should recognize the things that I do accomplish. But they’re not like other peoples’ accomplishments. They’re things like getting out of bed, making myself breakfast, doing the dishes, cooking dinner… you get the idea. Basic things that most people do without a thought. For me, though, they are huge. But when I do them, I don’t feel like I’ve accomplished anything because ‘normal’ people do these things without a second thought. ‘Normal’ people do far more. Some days, I can’t bear knowing that. It makes me feel weak and pathetic… which is what I think I am.

When I hear about people’s daily life—what they’re doing, what they’ve accomplished, I think about my life and I fall apart because my life is so empty. I don’t mean with respect to my family. I know people love me. What I mean is inside me. I’m not confident. I never have been. I don’t like myself. My mind is always drawn to the bad. I usually only see the good if someone points it out to me. I don’t see it on my own. I need my own personal cheerleader sitting on my shoulder at all times.

I’m not feeling sorry for myself. I just wish you knew how my world is… how it feels… so you won’t think I’m just lazy or making excuses. I want to explain why ‘cheer up’ and ‘snap out of it’ or ‘just do [fill in the blank]’ are not simple for me. It’s so much deeper than anyone outside of my own head can truly understand.

My days are like this: force myself to get out of bed, straighten up kitchen, have some panic with my breakfast, possibly go back to sleep, force myself (and it’s hard) to shower and get ready (and many days, cry in the shower because I can’t let the kids see that), try to do things—any things—so my day doesn’t feel empty and wasted, panic some more, fail at doing things [or on the rare occasion, maybe do some little things, but thinking ‘what’s the point?’ the entire time], get my ass to the kitchen to make dinner, eat, clean up, watch tv, feel that my day was empty and wasted, and fall asleep hoping I can make it through tomorrow.

I don’t expect that you knew it was like this for me. How could you? Even after reading this, no one can really get it without living it. No one can feel the pain I have to somehow get through every single day. And speaking of pain, I didn’t even touch upon the constant back pain that’s thrown on top of all of this. It’s horrible. It’s devastating.

I have panic attacks several times a week. Some are really bad. Others are mild by comparison [if there is such a thing as a mild panic attack… sounds like an oxymoron to me].

I make jokes about this… about myself… even though it’s serious because humor is one of the ways I try to deal with things. Sometimes it helps.

There’s only so much medication can do. It’s not a cure. There is no cure. That is maybe most devastating of all. It’s hard to be hopeful. It’s hard to feel happy. I had an amazing childhood. Wonderful parents made it fun, happy, memorable. I don’t know exactly when my brain went to hell, but it’s been there for years. A lot of years. More than half of my life.

I don’t blame anyone but myself. I tend to think I brought this on because of my many poor life choices. But the truth is that it is an illness, like any other, only this one doesn’t have obvious external symptoms… it has painful internal ones. And it has no cure.

I’m not looking for pity. Just know that when I say, ‘it’s hard for me to [fill in the blank],’ it truly is. Everything, usually except eat and sleep, is hard for me. Writing this was hard for me. Sharing it is even harder.

Love,

p.s. — I don’t like the thought of anyone feeling like they have to walk on eggshells around me or not share things with me because they might make me feel sad. That actually makes me feel worse. I guess just know that sometimes it’s hard for me to hear some things, but it’s not your fault… It’s mine.

p.p.s. — To my readers: I have never shared this with my family and I probably never will.

         
©2020 what sandra thinks