Letter to a friend who probably won't read it…

Tonight I woke from a horrible dream that was filled with the blackest despair.

Blackest despair. That's my euphemism for suicide. The word suicide is too real. Too scary.

The dream was filled with all kinds of Freudian imagery. It started with the theme of failure. My career had collapsed in the dream, and I was forced to go back to flogging built-up computers bought on credit and sold for pennies. I've always had a fear of failure. This part of my dream represented that fear.

In the dream Sharon was trying to help me with my sadness, but I wasn't able to explain my feelings. Instead, the words just stuck in my throat. I would start to shake and I was filled with a panic. I just wanted to break down and cry, but the tears just wouldn't come. Sharon held me, as she always will, but I still couldn't let it all go. I think that this part of the dream represented being trapped in my blackness. This is a feeling I get when I am in the thick of depression. The sense of being trapped in it.

I then found myself carrying one of those damn computer monitor boxes that I used to sell all over town, but instead of being with Sharon, I was standing outside of the open door to my old church in Lafayette. There was singing going on inside, but I was standing in the foyer, separate from everyone else. The ushers saw me and realized that I was in some kind of distress, but they didn't know what to do for me. They ended up just standing there.

In the dream, I finally started to break down and sob. I was standing, but bent over, and I was racked with a flood of tears. It felt like my heart was being crushed. In the dream I so much just wanted to die and stop the hurting.

That’s when I looked up in the dream and saw you.

You were inside the church, singing with everyone else. You had seen me standing outside and you kept glancing my way uncomfortably. You didn't come out.

That's when I collapsed in a heap on the floor. I curled up in a ball and shook all over as the tears poured down my face. I was finally just crushed by the weight of it all. I could do nothing in my dream except lay there outside the church and cry.

My eyes were closed in the dream. I heard the ushers speaking with someone, telling them that they didn't know what to do for me. This new person told them not to worry. He said that he had been waiting for this to happen and that he knew how to help me. He then came over to comfort me.

That's when I woke up.

* * *

I'm not sure why I had this dream tonight. It seems out of place. Currently I'm in the middle of a very well deserved vacation in Croatia with Sharon, and I've been having a wonderful, stress-free, relaxing time here on the coast of the Adriatic.

When I woke from the dream, I roused her to have her hold me. She is always willing to do this for me when I need her. Sharon is truly my biggest earthly blessing.

I've since sent her off back to sleep, and I'm now sitting in bed beside her writing this reflection. I've found that writing is one way that I've been able to express my sadness. In real-life, my tears still won't come. I write as a way to let out some small fraction of the sorrow trapped inside.

I said above that I'm currently having a wonderful time in Croatia. As you can imagine, I can never really forget what is waiting for me once I return home. Maybe that's part of the reason why I had the dream tonight. I really don't know.

* * *

You featured in only a small part of my dream. Why am I writing about you? Perhaps I should be writing about how God came out of the church to comfort me when no one else would or could. Perhaps I should be writing about the church itself, and its seeming lack of care for people like me. Perhaps I should be writing about Sharon and how she is always there for me, even when I can't communicate my needs and feelings.

I have written about many of those things, and I'm sure that I'll write about more of them in the future. Tonight I just wanted to write to you.

I miss you and the friendship we once shared.

I know that we were always somewhat mismatched as friends. You were the golden boy. Life always seemed to just work out for you. You were the football star in high school. You were the classic image of the American hero. You had the perfect family. You had options.

Unlike many people, you used your options to help others. That was always one of the reasons that I liked and respected you. You really seemed to care.

Now I, on the other hand, came from *slightly* different circumstances…

I was always the spindly little geeky guy. I was about the farthest thing from being the star or the hero. I was and still am broken. I am unworthy.

I help others because I can empathize with their own brokenness and pain. I help others as a pitiful way to try and buy myself into grace, even though I know it doesn't work that way.

We fell together working for some of the same causes. We both were attracted to one another due to our faith and our deep passions. But our paths to that shared place were very, very different.

To be honest, part of me always wanted to be you.

In the back of my mind I think I probably knew how you would respond to my changes. People in my situation were never really high on your list of causes. I think in your mind you find us sinful and uncomfortable to deal with. I dunno. I can't read your thoughts. Maybe I've got it all wrong.

But your actions speak for themselves.

I really wish you would have tried harder to understand me and my problems before you decided to distance yourself. Of all the crappy things I've done in my life, and of all the strife and punishment that I *do* deserve, this really isn't one of those.

This wasn't a choice. This wasn't a decision. No one deserves this.

I was just born this way.

If I was born with bum kidneys, would you think that I had somehow sinned to deserve them? Would you deny me my dialysis? Would you just expect me to live with my infirmary? I don't think so. You're not that kind of person. You are much more compassionate than that.

Don't you realize that I never wanted this cock between my legs? My heart, my soul, is that of a woman. It wasn't my choice. I was just born this way. If I could, I would have done differently.

Think about it. I was never very good at any of that macho bullshit. I couldn't bench press a full can of coffee. Me, catch a football? I don't think so. Shoot hoop? Yeah, right. Now, I'll admit that I eventually got to enjoy some of those things that I did do in order to try and compensate, but they were acquired tastes and none of them came naturally. I always enjoyed the companionship more than most of the actions themselves.

Think about it. I was always better at holding the sick babies than with holding my own with the other guys.

* * *

I'm gonna quit writing now. I'm tired and I've said what I needed to say. Plus, I really doubt that you're ever gonna read this anyway.

I'll close by telling you one last thing. I love you and I miss you. I really wish you would give me another look. I'm still the same person inside.

Your friend,
Jessica