user-avatar
Today is Friday
May 18, 2012

Archives: June 2011

June 28, 2011

Letter to Humanity

Dear Human Beings of the Earth:

I personally think the universe is a living, breathing entity. It expands and collapses (breathing) and it grows and changes. We are but parasites of to the host which is the universe, and much like our own bodies have parasites that we are host to, sometimes these parasites are good and sometimes they are bad.

Sometimes the parasites are the very thing that keeps our bodies alive. Other times we take meds to wipe some parasites out completely.

Is the universe as a whole really that different to us?

I do think that humankind is a bit egotistical to think we are the biggest, highest, top of the chain beings… of course, not all humans think this, but I bet it would be a safe bet to say that the human race as a whole has a bit of a superiority complex when it comes to ‘life’ in general.

Have you seen “The Happening” yet? I won’t give anything away to spoil it for anyone who hasn’t, but…. if you haven’t seen the show, doing so might just show you that, though we think we are so in control of this earth and perhaps even the universe itself, the truth is, we are not and at any moment, one little change in something seemingly so innocuous can bring us to extinction.

Believe it or not, humans, if all of us–every last human being in the world–were to drop dead tomorrow, life on earth would continue.

But if all the plants dropped dead tomorrow it would not.

Now, tell me, who or what is then superior in the universal sense?

We are but living organisms that are invading the universal host and yet we treat this world and this life as though we own it, like it’s really ours to do with what we choose.

It’s not.

Whether you believe in God, a higher power, or even an energy of sorts that we can tap into, the reality is – we are not all there is, period.

And of what is, we are not even close to being the top of the chart.

And I humbly submit that when we figure that out and start being grateful for the fact that the universe even allows us to invade it and be a parasite to it without taking a metaphoric antibiotic and flushing us out of existence… that will be when life on earth begins to improve.

Living in harmony – not just with each other but with the earth and the universe as a whole.

New agey?

I don’t think as much as it once was. Were seeing a big ‘green movement’ and more people are starting recognize and understand what some have known all along.

We are not islands unto ourselves, are we? Nope, and here we are being invited as guests to the universe and we are treating the place like we own it.

We don’t own it.

We aren’t even renting it.

We are invited guests… and I’ve gotta tell ya, if any house guest in my home treated my home like most of us treat the world and the universe as a whole, well, I’d kick them out.

How long before you think the universe kicks us out for being bad house guests?

Think about that the next time you are driving down the street and think to toss something out your window. Think about that the next time you go to the grocery store and buy things with pesticides and chemicals in them (not to mention what happens to your own body). Think about that the next time you toss that plastic or bottle in the trash instead of recycling it.

Just think about it.

One of two things happens when a parasite invades a host’s body – eventually, the host flushes it out or the parasite kills the host.

Either way… human life ends.

So my fellow human beings, please take care of this home we’ve been invited to visit. We are not all there is, and we owe it to everyone, our children, our children’s children and the entire future of humanity and the universe as a whole is at stake if we don’t.

Sincerely,
A fellow human being…

 

Twitter del.icio.us Digg Facebook linked-in Yahoo Buzz StumbleUpon

June 24, 2011

500156_vodka_2

Dear Alcohol: By Miranda Myers

Dear Alcohol:

I’ve never liked you. You know that. My relationship with you started when I was quite young, and you took my grandfather and then my father away from me. My grandfather you took from liver cirrhosis, and my father was diabetes complications, but we all knew it was from the drinking. He would even sneak cough syrup and Nyquil when mom would hide you from him, knowing you hid lurking in those bottles too. I remember, as young as three years old, watching him swig back from the green and red thick liquid.

I tasted you back then, but you were so nasty, I never understood why he felt like he did about you. But he loved you. Oh, how he loved you. He loved you more than he loved me, more than he loved mom, more than he loved anything. And we paid that price. We paid for every sip of you he took, and you just sat there, taunting us, teasing him, making him love you more and more. You knew he was married, had a kid and he needed to be responsible for his family, Alcohol, but you took him away from us, night after night, as he sought your solace in bar after bar.

But there was no solace, was there? You only left him wanting more and more.

Then it was my turn.

You came to tease me once the first time when I was fourteen years old. I was just a baby. Alcohol, you knew the hold you had on my family. I’m only just now learning that you’re a disease that I didn’t even know I could get. I’m only just now learning that everything you’ve done is something I should have known you would do.

But when you came to tease me, “Drink me… come on, just one little drink… it made your dad feel better… I can make you feel better too…” I listened. I drank. I drank you in and I liked the burn of you. Alcohol, the feel of you, sliding down my throat, was riveting. It was warming and cool at the same time. You slid down into my belly, numbed me, and it was a comfortable numb. It was a numbness that felt good, because it didn’t feel.

I understood instantly what my father and grandfather had seen in you. I instantly desired you with the same intensity they had. But the truth is, I knew you were dangerous. I did try to avoid you. I really did. But you kept calling me. Everywhere I looked, there you were. My mother kept all of my father’s bottles in the house. Why did she do that?

Oh, Alcohol, I convinced myself I could control you, but you know from the beginning you controlled me completely. Just a little out of the bottle. Add a little water to it. Add a little bit more. She’ll never know. Shoot, mom’s so distraught, let’s just take a whole bottle. I’ll replace you later, Alcohol.

Our love/hate affair has lasted over twenty years, and there’s not a day I don’t fight you, Alcohol. You’ve survived my relationships through two husbands, two children who still barely speak to me, and two other relationships with boozers who are good-time lovers, but are just as addicted to you as I have been.

You took my job, then you took my car. You took my freedom for six months when I slammed said car into a brick wall.

Alcohol, I only thank you for letting it be a brick wall and not the life of someone loved and cherished by someone else. The next time, and I always fear there will be a next time with you, Alcohol, I fear I won’t be so lucky.

Sure, I take responsibility for drinking you, Alcohol, but once I start drinking, I lose who I am, and everything I promise myself I will never do again, I do. I don’t want to do these things. I don’t want to want you. I don’t want to need you. I don’t want to pick you up, Alcohol. I just don’t.

And I can’t tell you why I do it.

So I go to the meetings to break my dependency on you. I talk with people who have successfully rid themselves of you. But every time, I take you with me, like I’m carrying you around on my shoulder. You still taunt and tease me.

And still I can smell you, taste you, feel you… just as surely as I can remember a lover’s caress on my skin. Just as surely as I can feel the sunshine on my face on a hot summer’s day. I know your burn. I know your feeling. I know your warmth. I know your comfortable numbness, and I crave you. I crave you with an intensity that is unlike any I’ve ever had.

And I hate you for it, Alcohol. I despise and hate you for it.

But I forgive you. You don’t mean to taunt me, Alcohol. I know you’re not the real problem, but just the symptom of it.

 

So, Alcohol, my prayers:

 

God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.
Living one day at a time;
Enjoying one moment at a time;
Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;
Taking, as He did, this sinful world
as it is, not as I would have it;
Trusting that He will make all things right
if I surrender to His Will;
That I may be reasonably happy in this life
and supremely happy with Him
Forever in the next.
Amen.

–Reinhold Niebuhr

 

One day at a time, Alcohol. One day at a time and I will rid you from my life.

Sincerely,
Nine Months Sober

Twitter del.icio.us Digg Facebook linked-in Yahoo Buzz StumbleUpon

June 23, 2011

1331601_silver_chinchilla

I Didn’t Know Any Better, by Amanda Barnes

by admin — Categories: Apology Letter, Letter about Pets7 Comments

Dear Misty,

Every now and again I think about you, and I can’t help but feel sad. You didn’t deserve what happened to you, but I didn’t know what else I was supposed to do. I knew I was broke and I knew that I couldn’t afford to have a pet, so when I found you as a little kitten, I should have taken you to the pound or found a home for you where someone else could take care of you. But I didn’t have anything that made me happy, and you made me smile.

You were so small and cute. You were so much fun, tearing up the house and lapping up milk. I know that the canned meats weren’t the healthiest things I could feed you, but I could afford them with Food Stamps.

When you got sick, I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t afford to take you to the vet. I tried to take care of you myself, but you were just so sick. I didn’t know what to do, so I took you outside, put you in a little box, and left you there. I couldn’t handle your dying on me. I left you alone, scared, sick. I’d had you for several months, and I loved you, but I left you alone. I didn’t even put you somewhere close by, because I didn’t want to look and see where I’d left you.

Sometimes, when I get really sad about what I did, I pretend that you’re still alive. I pretend that someone found you, took care of you, took you in, made you well, took you to the vet, fed you good food, did all the things I should have done for you.

But the truth is, that probably didn’t happen. You probably died, alone, scared, terrified. And it’s my fault. I am so sorry I did that to you.

I’ve not allowed myself to have another pet because of you, Misty. It’s not fair for me to have that pleasure when I didn’t do right by you. But now, my children want a cat, and they found this little grey tabby, who looks just a bit like you—but maybe that’s just my guilt thinking that—and I feel so guilty every time I look at her.

So I’m writing this to you to say I’m sorry. If you really are at the Rainbow Bridge, then maybe one day I can tell you how sorry I am when I see you again. I wish I had saved you. I wish I’d done the right thing. But this time, I will. This time, I can afford a pet, and I will take good care of the new kitten. I hope you don’t mind, won’t think I’m undeserving after what I did to you.

I’m so sorry, little Misty Kitty. I hope wherever you are, you’re happy and maybe you can forgive me for not being brave enough or strong enough to do what was right for you.

Love,
Amanda

 

~~Amanda Barnes is a pet lover who made a mistake when she was young, but writing this letter is something she hopes will bring some light to others who might find themselves in a similar position. There are organizations that will help people who cannot afford to take care of their pets during an illness, and local animal shelters also will usually assist in certain circumstances. The Human Society has more information about how to get assistance with veterinary help for your pets if you can’t afford it. Visit them here: http://www.humanesociety.org/animals/resources/tips/trouble_affording_veterinary_care.html – Amanda only wishes she had known about this so many years ago.

Twitter del.icio.us Digg Facebook linked-in Yahoo Buzz StumbleUpon

June 22, 2011

Wish I Could Tell You, by Martha Conners (A Pen Name)

by admin — Categories: Apology Letter, CONFESSIONS, Ex Boyfriend3 Comments

Dear Matt,

I have a secret I’ve been keeping inside for years, one that haunts me at night. I carry it around with me, always on my mind, ever-present. I think about what I’ve done, why I did it, and it all makes sense when I think back on it, but right now, with my new life, where I’m at now, and I can’t believe I ever did to you what I did.

But you don’t even know what I did. I don’t know where you are, or how to find you, or what I’d do even if I knew how to find you. So the only thing I know to do is to write it here in a letter I can’t ever send to you. I do wonder, if I could, would I send it? I don’t know.

So here goes…

I lied to you, years ago. Do you remember, Matt, when I told you I was pregnant and you doubted it? Your family told you it wasn’t true, and that I didn’t look pregnant, didn’t act pregnant?  Well, I was pregnant. When I told you, I had just had a positive pregnancy test at the doctor’s office, but I wasn’t very far along.

Your family was so awful to me, thinking I was trying to trap you, coerce you into marriage or something. I wasn’t. I mean, you and I both know I would have married you in a heartbeat, but that wasn’t my point. I didn’t plan on getting pregnant any more than you planned on getting me pregnant. Why is it that most people seem to ignore the man in the equation? I mean, you could have used protection just as easily as I could have, right?

That doesn’t matter. What does matter is that I was pregnant. But at about three months pregnant, I went to the doctor with some spotting, and I was afraid to tell you, certain your family would just keep telling you I was lying. I was so tired of hearing you tell me all the awful things they said about me, so I never said anything. A week or two later, gushes of blood, pain, fever… I never went to the doctor.

Ten years later, when I wanted to start my own family, I was told I did have some scarring. That was my punishment, I guess.

But I never told you I lost the baby, because I didn’t want your family to think they were right. So when you finally broke away from your family and came to me and said you wanted to be a part of the baby’s life, that you wanted to be a part of my life, I shut you down and told you not to worry about it. I moved away. A friend in California took me in for a while, then I later moved up to Oregon. I live elsewhere now, and you’d have no idea who I am. My first name is common, I’m married now, so I realize even if you wanted to, you couldn’t find me any easier than I can find you right now.

The irony here is that I sent you a letter after I left, lying to you, telling you that you had a son, his name, his birthdate, and that he was placed for adoption. I even sent you a picture, which was of a friend’s child. THAT letter, I sent to you. This one, I can’t. This is the one you should get, not that one.

That was nearly twenty years ago now. All this time, you’ve thought you had a kid out there, every day, you have wondered what he was like, where he was, if you’d ever get to meet him, see him, know him… and the truth is, there is no kid. I miscarried before I was even out of the first trimester, and I was so ashamed of the lies and the fear and the family thinking me a gold-digging whore that I ran away and let you live with the pain that comes from thinking something this big and it not being true at all.

I feel guilty from this. I don’t know how to fix it. I was sixteen years old… I had no family, few friends, no money. I wasn’t trying to trap you, but I sure wasn’t wanting to be trapped either.

I’m making excuses though. What I did was wrong.

Do you know? Did you suspect? Do you even think about me anymore? Do you ever wonder about a son you think you have and don’t? I wonder about a child we might have had but didn’t. I know how much it can hurt, even now, when I finally do have my own children and know how wonderful that can be, so I know how much it hurts to think you might have one and have missed knowing him.

I have no excuses for the lies I told. I was hurt and I wanted to hurt you too, and it was wrong. I have tried to forgive myself and on most days, I do okay with it, but I still wonder about you and wonder about your wondering.

I’m so sorry for the pain I caused. I’m sorry I was young and stupid. I’m sorry I made the mistakes I did. I wish I could change it. I wish I could go back and do it differently.

But I hope your life is a good one, and that you have prospered in spite of what I’ve done to you. I really do mean that. Maybe, who knows, if the world thinks the truth should come out, God or some divine power or something will bring the truth to light. I have told my current family, or at least, my husband knows, and he understands. That gives me hope maybe, just maybe, you would eventually understand too.

Again, I am so sorry, Matt.

Take care,
Martha

~~Martha Conners is a pen name, not a real name, for a real writer who works mostly writing content on the web for websites like Associated Content, Examiner and others. Given the nature of the letter, Martha believes it’s best if her real name and “Matt’s” real name are kept secret, but she appreciates the ability to share this burden and how freeing it is to admit it openly, even if her name isn’t attached to it.

 

Twitter del.icio.us Digg Facebook linked-in Yahoo Buzz StumbleUpon

June 20, 2011

Dear Ex-Fill-In-the-Blank, by Me

Dear Ex-Fill-in-the-Blank,

I don’t know why I did that internet search the other day on your name. At first, it was just a whim type of thing, searching for people I remembered from high school and college, friends I’d lost touch with. I guess most of us do that at some point or another, right? So when I entered your name into Facebook, I was surprised when your name came up, because it’s such an unusual name. I remembered thinking, “There’s no way there’s two of them…”

But there was your picture. There was no mistaking it was you. My heart skipped a beat. Then it fluttered, then it sped up and I sighed.

You were my best friend. You were my lover. You were, for that time in my life, my everything, and then, one day, you were gone. And for the past twelve years, you have been nothing more than a distant memory. Until yesterday, when you were larger than life.

And you were only one click away. Just one click. Just a little click on the ‘send’ button, and I could reconnect to… what? To you? To my past? To a different life?

I wrote the email I wanted to send, then I wrote it again, then I wrote it again. And then I wrote this. And then I wrote this again. I deleted, wrote, rewrote.

In the end, I left the letter unsent.

I figure sometimes it’s best to leave the past in the past. But I scoured your profile. I’m almost ashamed to say that. I mean, what did I hope to find? I was torn between wanting to think you were happy and being happy for you and then being angry that you were so able to move on with your life and be happy when I had been so hurt by your loss for so long. It was unfair you were happy when I was, once again, so unhappy.

But then, I don’t know much about your life. Facebook and social network sites like them are great, but you can’t see anything more than what a person wants to show the world. I found I felt guilty thinking that maybe you were not happy. Maybe the Facebook stuff was all a façade.

But I saw the pictures of the two of you together. I saw the smiles, the kisses, the holding hands, the family things. The things I always wanted to have with you, do with you, be with you. Things I would never share with you, probably not ever, and that stung.

I then wrote another email to you, telling you how wonderful my life was, how great things had been, casual and easy, I said how good stuff was going for me, and how great my life has been since you were gone. I only included small digs at you, little mini-accusations that my life was good in spite of your having been in it.

Why did I want to hurt you? Because, maybe, you hurt me. But you know that. You know we both hurt. So how is it that it was so easy for you to walk away and be happy and post all these pictures of your life, your happy little life, on the internet. And here I sit, miserable, alone, unhappy, watching my past anonymously through a computer monitor.

Eventually, I had to click off your profile. I knew I would never send the letters I wrote, but they did somehow make me feel better. AT least I was able to purge some of the emotion.

I suppose, eventually, I will probably click on the ‘add friend’ button, maybe a short and sweet message, “Hey, great to see you again! Hope all is well!”

But I’m not ready for that yet. Maybe I never will be.

Social networking is a funny thing. We are both at once more connected and more separate from one another than we ever have been as a society, as human beings, as friends.

And still… it was good to ‘see’ you.

Love,
Me

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger... Twitter del.icio.us Digg Facebook linked-in Yahoo Buzz StumbleUpon
© 2012 All rights reserved