Hi, Sam.

I know this is out of the blue. It's just that sometimes words get heavy on my chest. No, not words... thoughts. It's been 17 years, and I haven't been honest with you, and I'm sorry. There are so many things I haven't told you. So many confessions to make, but it's always hard to find where to start... it's hard to say things to your face, because I'm scared of how you'll react. Somewhere, though, I'm sure you've already picked up on my duplicity.
I'm taking off the lies now. This is me, telling you all that you need to know. Maybe you'll hate me for it... I hope you don't.

This one you have to understand. This one you couldn't have possibly missed, unless you're dumb or stupid (do you remember when Sasha from gym made a joke about that? I still laugh at the thought of it), which you aren't. So you must know that I'm a fraud.
I don't know half of what I'm saying. I make metaphors for the sake of making metaphors, to sound like I'm twice as smart as I really am, and when they don't make sense, I stick my chin up and tell people it's because they just don't get it. I love to write, but at the end of the day, nothing I write means anything, because it's all the same damn thing.
And I know you've always thought I was amazing. You sighed when I didn't churn out a masterpiece, bashed me because you thought I had potential that I just didn't use. The truth is, though, that maybe I never had that potential in the first place. All the big words, the showy phrases and the extended analogies and insightful commentaries on life, were nothing more than ink stains on paper. I'm a fraud. And I'm sorry.
I'm sorry that I'm not great at anything. I'm sorry I haven't lived up to your expectations. And something else - I'm sorry because I'm not the perfect girl you thought I was.
I swear. All the time. No one can hear me, because it's all in my head. I always thought I was some sort of saint because I refrained from bad language, and I always reprimanded dirty mouths both to and behind their backs. But I'm one of them.
I'm worse.
I don't swear for the sake of swearing, toss around curses like they're everyday phrases. I wield them like weapons. I throw them like grenades. It's just that I have so much hate now, even if no one notices. I wonder, sometimes, where all the love went. I think I used to be one of the happiest people alive. My mother used to tell me that, at least - "you and your sister are so happy", she'd say, with a laugh and a shake of her head.
Where did all that go?
You have to help me here, because maybe if I can find these feelings, I can turn back time, redeem myself....
But that would take years and years. Years that are indelible. Expired.
And that's another thing. I'm expired. I've passed up so many opportunities I've had. I live this life, and I throw it away. I throw it all away like its nothing.
Of course I take chances, and I do my best with what I have. But I know  I have untapped reserves that just sit there, wallowing in all the my complaints. And for what? Nothing.
There is nothing to complain about. And yet, I always feel like I've lost everything.

I'm sorry that I'm dumping all of this on you right now. It's catharsis, in a way. I'm sorry for using you like that. There's no one else I can talk to about any of this. Well, maybe there are a few people. But they wouldn't listen like you would, and they wouldn't understand.
But maybe you wouldn't either.
Your heart has always been bigger than mine, but even someone like you can only take so much. You'll tell me you get what I'm saying, but I know you'll never bring it up, never want to talk through these problems. You'll tack on a smile and pretend like everything's cool. I guess I can't blame you for that, because what else can you do? You're just a kid, after all. We're all just kids.
There's so much more to say, so many places to go back and erase the words I didn't mean to write. But if I were talking to you, I'd only get one take. So this is my one take - I swear I haven't changed anything, gone back to cover up my tracks and salvage what's left of my second face.
I guess there wasn't really a point to all this, now that I think about it. It hasn't made me feel any better, even though I thought it might. But before I go, I have one last confession to make.
I know I always make a big deal out of everything. There are days when you have to talk me off the ledge, and there are nights when I have to listen to the same song on repeat and conjure up stories in my head to hide from my own. But I just want you to know that I'm okay.
Forget everything I've just said. There's only one thing I really want you to remember, and it's that I'm okay.
See? I told you - I'm a fraud. A cliché. Basically every great story in the world ends with someone turning out alright in the end. But clichés are cliché for a reason.
And I'm okay.
I swear it. No. I'm trying not to swear... I promise it.
I promise that I'm okay.
We're okay.

Love,
Sam