I have such a collection of half written paragraphs sitting on my computer, the variety encompassing so many things. Sentences about being in the hospital, fragments put to paper about feeling abandoned by friends who don’t know that even saying hello would help, entire pages dedicated to trying to understand, well everything.
11 unpublished works about how I feel scared.
8 unfinished letters to Whitney asking her for help. Even when I know none is coming.
A steadily growing collection of notes, letters, pictures I have seen that made me think of my daughter. All saved in a folder that is buried, yet always on the surface of my mind.
Notes to doctors asking questions, emails unsent to work saying I might need to take a break, too many letters…
The unexamined letter explaining to Whitney what happens if I don’t get better. A scary letter to have written. One I can’t send.
A letter to my parents letting them know the did everything they could, over the course of my entire life; and I’m grateful
Even a letter to Whitney’s parents thanking them for their support, even if it did go away.
None of these will ever see the light of day. Never be opened by their intended recipient.