I wrote this shortly after Jessey, probably the more understanding of most people, and I had a heated discussion about the whole mess up with Blake. Blake, of course, refuses to get involved with me and her, so she just can’t say I lied.
Dear Beth at 17,
If I could only look at myself in the mirror, or at least you, you didn’t seem so beautiful. What happened to you was uncalled for: everything from the whole dating scene to the guardianship to your unemployable situation at the Daytona Beach rehab place you went to. Remember? Do you even remember Jason, the trombonist in the marching band? Hah. At only 17, I wish the following:
- That I was able to do things in the music industry.
- That I was working at McDonald’s. Yeah, it wasn’t the best job, but at seventeen, I wish I had an internship. What was Danny doing at that age? Need I remind you that Danny is your half brother, your brother by a mom who probably didn’t want you at that age and a dad who said, “Just put her away”, and guess where he was? Internships, cross country track captain, etc. No, I forgot who the captain was, but who cares.
As a seventeen-year-old, the questions I had to ask were the following: who did I want to date, where were my desires, what was my true self? But at fourteen, there were more complications. My mother and dad literally tried to neuter me, worse than what you’d do to people in the forties. What? What does that mean, your seventeen-year-old self asks? It is apparent that this letter isn’t directed at my current self, but at you. When you were born, you were at first the cutest thing in the entire universe. Sorry, but the princess act was deterred because your mother deemed it “Unreal.” Now you think Rehab can bail you out now, but at seventeen, you are currently sick of the psychiatrist who treated you like dirt, sick of not being allowed to see Jason, and who was Jason? Yes, Jason. You forgot. You asked about him, wanted to see him, could have dated him, and so on. Because of you, I am here, sitting at a desk, not my desk, not a grand table in a grand dining room in a hallway that I purchase myself, but a grand, well, not so grand desk at a place where the lady calls you in to her office, says you lied to her about your boyfriend coming to see you. What? Did you realize that Blake Tucker, who would later be your future husband/boyfriend whatever you call him, could not come to see you after all because of money, family, and other things? It is obvious no matter what I try to tell the people here that they believe that I am stuck. Stuck in the state of stuck is more like it. Beth, you haven’t got a clue. At this age, you are about to venture out into a world that doesn’t like you, doesn’t care about you, won’t accept you. At 27, I am poor, not able to pay debts, not able to pay things except for regular bills, and I still have to eat. I still have to drink the water around me, eat food, brush my hair, wash myself, soap my body, shave my unfeminine legs, etc. I still have to get the mud off my plate. But absolutely not while getting a “relevant” job. I cannot at the least do call center work that is fast paced and entails me to work nights. Transportation would not be safe and reliable at night, and then there’s criminals who are willing to mug or rape or steal my phone, purse, or my sexual space. What EVER!
As a 30-year-old, what will I be? I expect to be married by then, in my element, in a job that I enjoy. What will I do? Will Blake do what he says he’s gonna do? I wanted to make some room for him to come, but alas, the one thing that is between us is between us: his mother. She is so ill and unable to think about what she truly needs that now she can’t drink alcohol. Thank God her own husband threw the liquor into the sink, into the trash. What will you be at fifty? Just like Cathy? Beth, think. You at 17 is not a pleasant person, and it doesn’t help that your parents don’t like you, abused you emotionally and psychologically, and now they come to love the woman that is 27 and in CO? What the …? This doesn’t make sense. I can only think of a few things that could make that possible: that your parents are evil, that they are sucking you into a whirlpool of stuff you can’t get out of, that they are unworthy of you as a daughter, all of the above. I guess all of the above. At 17, this is how they were. At 27, ten years later, this is what they decide: they will not bail you out. I am seriously considering the last option. I must become something that I want to be, and I’m sick of being compared to Christina and Britney. I’m Beth for God’s sake. I am a beautiful personality, but in body, I must be the worst thing ever. But then why does Blake love me? It’s obvious, there’s something wrong with anyone who does, according to your parents. Your parents, as it turns out, are liars. They lied about their intentions, lied about you because of their concerns. Let them try, but they cannot violate your rights. Help me.
Help me, you are my only hope.
Beth at 27