I want to tell you that Kyle 2.0 and I actually went to primary school together, although we didn't know each other back then. I want to tell you that they stuffed up and nobody's running for Women's Officer, and I want to see you tut tut and tell me again that I was the best gal for the job. I want to tell you that my friend sounds like death and asked me to pray for him, but I don't know how and it kills me a little bit each day. I want to tell you that I'm sick and scared and I want you to hold me and tell me that everything will be okay. I want to tell you that my anxiety is so bad that that day when you saw me I could barely get out of bed, and that I saw you long before you saw me and cried because I couldn't run to you and kiss you on the cheek like I always could.
And I want to know how you've been, too. I always wanted to know; it was why I always wanted to see you, because I know that the question that gets the most lies is 'how are you'; people always ask me that now, and I always say something stupid and generic and not-me like 'not bad' or 'pretty good' or 'yeah, okay'. No. I'm not okay. But there's nobody I can say that to anymore. You were the only person who could handle my not being okay. I always had to see you to see that you are good and safe, but now I cannot. But I hope you are happy. I hope you have other people to talk to and other people to make you smile. I hope you miss me. Don't work too hard. Don't stress out so much. Don't hurt yourself at work again. Look where you're going when you're riding that damn bike. Don't eat too many sweets. Be yourself, but remember to be kind; everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle. And stop skipping those "optional" workshops.
I wish I told you that just because I say I'm not okay, doesn't mean I assume that you're okay. I wish I told you that just because you upset me doesn't mean that I don't think you never get upset, or that you deliberately tried to upset me. Everything turned into a blame game, but I wish it hadn't. All my life people have blamed themselves for my many deviations from healthy or happy, but I wish they didn't. It is not my fault that I am not healthy or happy, but that doesn't mean it's yours. It just is, and we could have been friends without the fear and blame. But you're only not-quite-eighteen, and I don't think you can handle this quite yet. I am still-just-seventeen and I've never been able to handle it, but you had a choice and I never have and never will. You can turn a blind eye to all the times I spend doubled over in pain or curled up and crying, but I cannot. But that means you have to turn a blind eye to all the times I've smiled with you, laughed with you, talked with you, loved with you. It would have been too much of a sacrifice for me, but that was because you were all that I had. I know you have others. Less complicated people. It's what you deserve.
And I want to tell you that I'm glad that we were G and Ry until the very end.