Dear Alex

We went by Alex then didn't we? I miss those days sometimes, or rather I miss hearing that name. Sometimes you will prefer to be called something, anything, other then 'Alex', but trust me when I say - you'll regret it. Enjoy that name for a little longer yet.

I could tell you many things of what is in store for you. Many warnings. Many moments you should treasure longer. Junior year will suck. I'm sorry for that, you'll make the mistake of trusting someone you shouldn't, someone everyone tells you not to, and you will pay for that trust. Still you'll have a few classes you'll love even now, a decade later. English 11 CP with Mr. Bunce (you'll miss Mr. Bunce for years), Theater II with 'the gang' (you'll meet them soon), Speech with 'the gang' (practically the same classmates, same teacher, same room, same school period).

As far as Cassie goes... it wasn't your fault. Don't blame yourself. She was... sick. Ill in the head. No one blames you so don't blame yourself. What she said - he didn't die because of you. You'll spend the next 4 years certain that it was all your fault and you'll do things I regret now. What she said in the letter isn't how it went down, I know that now, and I also know that Cassie was a master manipulator. She always has been. Don't try to defend her - she was close to him, that's no doubt. You were closer to him and that ate at her. Whatever friendship you may have had as small kids was shredded until all that remained was her dislike of you and jealousy over the friendship you shared with Marc. So what she did? What she said? It means nothing.

But even as I write this, I know it doesn't matter too much. It's not that you won't listen, or understand, it's that the me that is you needs that self-deprecation and castration. The wound is still too raw, isn't it? Three years... they say that time helps to heal grief, but you don't believe that. You still wake up in the middle of night, dialing his number and almost hitting 'SEND' before you realize - he isn't on the other end anymore. Your first thought when someone asks you what you're doing over the weekend is still 'Seeing Marc'. You won't go to his grave - it's still too real. You haven't taken down the pictures of the two of you yet - you want to remember. But remembering hurts. And that pain helps to numb the grief a little. Helps to make you forget that he's dead, even though it's the thought that he's gone that brings you the pain. You can almost believe you two just had a fight and will make up Saturday morning, excitedly discussing the Saturday Morning Cartoons.

But it's when you do remember that worries me the most. When you allow the memories to swamp your thoughts and drown you in a tidal wave of depression and rage and frustration and even envy - yes, envy. Envy that he went on before you. Anger that he left you. Depression that it's one adventure you can't ever do together. Frustration that you couldn't save him. You hurt yourself, Alex. Inside and out. You sob and sob until you throw up. You dig your nails into your skin until you bleed.

I won't say it gets better. I wish I could but I won't. You'll miss out on a lot of things because of those feelings and memories. You'll allow people you know better than to listen to warp your self-confidence and happiness until you're even more miserable. You'll push others away. You'll miss chances, make reckless decisions...

But it will get better. You'll meet a guy, he's not perfect, but you love him. He loves you. He'll help you grow and move past those dreadful memories.

Just try and endure.

Love,

Your 25 year old self (who now goes by Lexie)