Dear reader.

The kettle screamed at the top of its lungs. I walked over and turned off the heat. Ah, tea. I sit back down at the table to read the letter that you’ve sent to me. It’s one question. You started sending letters with only one question because I always get side-tracked. 

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Dear reader,

My favorite colors are white, black, and gold. Why? Because white and black are so modern and cool, plus they go with almost anything. Gold is rich, gorgeous, gleaming. They’re a fun combination- all three. Although, I also really like yellow. I think it looks good on me, plus it’s a bit more happy than most colors.

Loads of things make me happy. Fresh baked cookies, going shopping, and hanging out with friends. I really like jumping off tall things into water. That’s the best. That adrenaline rush. The fall. The splash. I love it all. Somewhere beneath the surface, I also believe I like it because it makes me seem more brave than I really am.

I like to think that I am brave. What exactly makes someone brave? Doing something even though they are afraid. When I am afraid of the height of the bridge or cliff that I’m jumping off of, I just jump to get it over with. When I’m afraid of the dark, I just close my eyes and suffer through. When I’m afraid of a person, I figure out their weaknesses and use those against them.

“Weaknesses? No. I simply don't have any.” Is usually my initial thought whenever anybody asks about that type of thing. Yet, we all have our own weaknesses, so surely I can find some of my own. One of my weaknesses is thinking too highly of myself. Another is judging other people. Those are weaknesses because sometimes narcissism is just a form of denial that people truly aren’t better than their peers. Judging other people just proves that someone is weak. So weak that they have to point out others' weaknesses to make themselves feel better.

I think highly of myself because I mostly love my character. I love the role I play in life. I love the way I look (most of the time). I'm The main character in my mind. Yet, somehow, when I think really hard… I just feel as if I’m just part of the crowd. Just another face. Why am I important? What makes me significant? I don’t know. Even so, I feel important. I feel different. 

A few things that are important to me are my family, friends, and my belongings. My family is important to me because I love them and they shape me into the person that I am becoming. Even though they sometimes are a pain, they care so much about me. More than I deserve. I care about my friends because they’re my source of happiness. Just being with them is like a mental reset. I care about my belongings because sometimes you remember something one day, and forget it the next. The things I have remind me of my past, which is a bittersweet feeling. 

Nostalgia. I have many feelings about nostalgia. It’s so sweet, it makes me want to throw up. It’s like cotton candy. It tastes so good, and I want more, but it’s bad for me. Looking back into the past for too long can be bad for people because if you pay too much attention to the past, you’ll have no time for the present, much less the future! Nostalgia is like if a song you haven't heard in a long time plays on the radio. Like you can barely grasp onto the notes, and you somehow remember. A smell that you haven't smelled in years, but you know that you’ve smelled it before.

I really like the smell of books. Opening a fresh book and smelling the pages is almost as good as reading it! The papery aroma, for some reason, is just so calming. I love the smell of roses. Roses are a very cliche flower, however their scent never ceases to amaze me. The ocean is a whole other level. The sweet salty water, the overpriced corndogs, the sunscreen. Somehow it all blends together to make a perfect masterpiece. 

I really like art. So much hard work goes into it. Hard work should make things more valuable. Artists don’t make enough money. Art is so expressive. People can do practically anything and call it art. I once heard a story of a man who taped a banana to a canvas and it sold for $120,000. Isn’t that crazy? Art is anything that people want it to be. I wish that life was as easy as that sometimes.

Life can be very difficult sometimes. Sometimes I just feel empty for absolutely no reason. Sometimes I feel nervous when nothing is happening. I just randomly start sweating and I feel scared for some reason. Isn’t that odd? What am I scared of? We’re all scared of something, right? Life is confusing.

Sometimes I ask silly questions like, “why are we even here?”. Does anyone really know the answer to that? More so, does anyone have a satisfying answer to that? Pretty lies with bows on top sometimes feel better than the stone cold truth. Truth can be even worse than lies because you know that it's true and it's real and nothing, nothing can ever change that. It's rather odd how some people long for the truth, while others are okay with being lied to for the rest of their lives. 

Would I rather be told the terrible truth or be lied to? Honestly, I really don't know. If I’m to be completely honest, I’m a little bit afraid of the truth. Fear is the enemy. It consumes like wildfire. Living in fear is worse than never living at all. If the truth is the cause of such fear, it is powerful. People live for power. Status. Money. What can satisfy our forever-hungry hearts?

Always searching, searching for something more. Craving something, something so faint something that we can't possibly grab onto. We want, we want, we want. How much of what we want do we really receive? Does receiving this even satisfy our forever-hungry hearts?

Satisfaction is something that the human race lacks. Everyone wants something. They long to have it, whatever it is. Yet, they won’t get it. And even if, even if they do… Will that even satisfy them? Will they even be happy? No. They will find something new to long for. What’s up with that? Some people may think that they are great. That they are exactly who they wish to be. They are satisfied. Here’s the hard truth: they are not satisfied. They are in denial.

Some people fear death. I think they’re denying that everyone will die. I am afraid to die, of course. Even so, I find myself being okay with this statement. Main characters in books and movies are often saying things like, “I don’t fear death!” or “I’d rather die than tell you!”. Does anyone realize how weird that is? that they would rather die? I am afraid of death.

But I am more afraid of myself. The only enemy I have is none other than myself. The mind tricks and deceives. It plants fear in you. I’ve touched on fear more than once now, yet I compulsively still wish to write about it. The churning of the stomach, nerves going wild, shaking, sweating… Fear affects one psychically and mentally. It is like an illness. Fear can drive people mad. Some people would rather die than live in fear of another. Sometimes fear does not affect psychically. Sometimes you don’t even realize that you were afraid of something until much later.

I was afraid. I was afraid to open myself up. I was afraid to tell people who I really am, and now here I am, wondering if people still think of the sick lie that I was to them! They did not know me. They never knew me! Now they can never know who I really, really am because I was too scared of what they would think of me! Isn’t that the stupidest thing?!

Fear- that low, conniving little snake! Slithering into my brain making me lie and lie about everything! Anything! It’s all just lies so that no one can really judge me. No one can judge the real me. Although, I realize what that really means. No one really likes me. No one likes me. I never understood why people would lie when I was younger. Now, I don’t think that I’ve ever understood something more. What is up with that? I got so used to lying that I never even felt guilty. Now, its hurts more than anything.

Guilt. Guilt makes nostalgia look like nothing. You can feel guilt in your chest, your heart, the pit of your stomach. It makes me want to die. Crying, sobbing, feeling like a little wrench that has done nothing, nothing to deserve their place in the world. I loathe the feeling of guilt. Yet, I find myself feeling guilty often. What makes me feel guilty? Loads of things, really. Yelling at people that I care about, stealing, lust…Lying, now.What makes these things so addicting? The temporary satisfaction that it gives you. But, as I have mentioned, people are never satisfied. 

Scratch that. 

Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I am never satisfied. Who am I to tell of the lives of others when I haven’t walked in their shoes? Perhaps this is about me. Maybe I am projecting all my insecurities onto everyone else in the world and calling it “normal”. Is that normal? It doesn’t feel normal. 

It’s raining now. I hear thunder. I see lighting. The world is screaming at me for everything I have done. Everything I have said. Every lie. Every mistake. What is wrong with me? What is wrong with me?!”

I took a deep breath. 

“Thank you for yet another mental breakdown. I hope this finds you in good health.  

Sincerely, 

Mia Fitzpatrick.”