Letter to Cari

Dear Cari,

Recently, I’ve stood accused of writing nothing but negative posts on Twitter and Facebook. Well? What am I supposed to do? I’ve tried to explain myself to anyone, and all I get is the following: I don’t believe you, or I don’t want you to defend your case. Cari, if only I knew how you dealt with the pain of your illness so early in your life, so much so that you left this world too early for me to have contacted you. Cari, I need some sort of divine intervention because I’ve had enough of this world, of losing friends, of losing significant others, and my career never supported by anyone. A friend screamed into the phone, “Get a life” and was gone in an instant. She had a good guide dog, I remember her dog’s name, and here I sit sobbing on my bed because people don’t understand how I got here. I am literally hauling a weight so large that even a Simon won’t carry it. Yes, I may not go to church, but I still remember the story of Jesus’s crucifixion. He carried a cross so heavy, and was whipped horrendously by Roman soldiers, but even he had Simon to give him some help in carrying this heavy wooden cross, and then, between two thieves, he was nailed on it. Cari, if only we could switch places for a while, I want to know what your castle would look like up there.

Honestly, I was told over and over I could not be friends with anyone. Can you only imagine what would have happened if I only stayed at elementary school? Ten years old? Fourth grade?

I went to the neighborhood school, but then someone made a decision that wasn’t great. I personally can’t sit there and lose friends right and left, and they won’t let me defend my case. I. have been diagnosed with three different mental illnesses, and then sudden withdrawals from me occurred today. Why aren’t you staring at me with a smile, Cari? You might have been the most innocent of girls, victims of circumstance. But like anyone else, and everybody else in this world, you left. But unlike everybody else, you left too early.

If only I could go back so many years, maybe go so far as to tell my family what I know now about their decision to send me to Catholic private school, waste their savings, and not support what I do. I’m a grown woman, sure, but I’m a broken and tattered one too. I’m broken, but some days I feel I’m broken beyond repair. I can’t sit here coping with the loss of friends who swear they’re supportive of me 100% but then they turn on me like tornadoes, destroying everything in their paths. We just had a blizzard, as you know, from way up there, and there are twisters in the south. I wonder what will happen at the end of the day. Let me explain what happened when we parted so many years ago.

After reaching the fifth grade, I had to go to a school that, later I would learn, lied profusely about sexuality and women. The big slogan or mantra of this school was, “No sex before marriage” and when would marriage work? When? Marriage would become a thing out of reach. Cari, you were only fifteen when you died, peacefully and with a family around you.

How will I go? When will I get the chance to fly? When will I? How will I ever begin to forgive myself?

I always wrote letters to you when I was having a terrible day. And honestly, it feels better sitting here at my keyboard and typing this out because I can’t talk to anyone. Not a single person can speak my name without uttering a painful disgraceful word. I wish this would go away. If only I had your energy, your purity, maybe even your belief in God. But God tossed me out to the wolves, and Jesus didn’t exactly do what the Romans wanted him to do. But still, Jesus had no fault in this.

Cari, if only I had a picture that would affirm what I should do. I have to take medications already for the destruction my family has brought upon me, and that medication is nothing but trouble. The doctor says I’m “hyper manic” and sure, I could use a second opinion. But the last thing I want to do is tell clinicians what my parents want to hear anymore. This is what happened when I left Catholic school:

I. had crushes on boys, for sure. I wanted someone with a nice smile, all the things girls want. But when I went to high school, oh my, the culture shock. It was amazing what the teenagers at that school got away with. Cussing, swearing, what else and oh, the drugs, sex, and rock ‘n roll. Well, not so much the rock ‘n roll, but one of my best friends, a girl in the ROTC group, said to me once, “There’s a lot of pregnant females on campus.” Not surprising, I thought, but I didn’t expect one of my friends, Emily Caldwell, to become pregnant with her then husband. Or should I say, then boyfriend.

I adore Emily, she’s one of the best bandmates a band member could have had. She now has two kids, a loving sweetheart (not the kids’ dad), and a lot of support. I never thought a marriage in the teen years was a good idea anyway.

Cari, if you only knew Emily’s baby, her son was so awesome. She gave him a name, she gave him love. If only people would see what Emily is capable of, and attaching to her child was the best thing for him as well.

I must say, though I sit crying as I write this, that I was isolated in the cradle. Why on earth my mother simply left me to rot in the confines of a ark room is beyond me. IF that was my baby, there’d be no way in Hell I’d leave him/her in a dark rocking crib or cradle at all, especially if she was under 2 years old. Cari, I don’t think my mother was attached enough to prevent what happened after.

She certainly wanted to cover up the way she handled the abusive nature of her dealing with blindisms, I know you’re familiar with those. Cari, now that you’ve passed on through to the next life, you probably are now able to see the colors, the things that. don’t see here on this planet. Who knows? I don’t know if spirits are always blind, but I do believe that there’s a rainbow up there. Rainbows are brilliant, for sure, but if only I could just see a rainbow of something. It doesn’t even have to be color.

Cari, I wanted to celebrate you at a Dance marathon, but the time came too quickly. I couldn’t find any information except the virtual “find a grave” thing with your name on it. Sweet Caroline, I never knew your name was Caroline. God, Cari, I have been spelling your name wrong while writing you all along, and I had forgotten how your name looked. Your voice, I forgot what it sounded like, I can barely remember what it all was. You had an infectious personality, I have felt it before, but it’s gone now. Gone are the days I can safely say I played beside you as a small child. Now, as a grown woman, I have to tackle so much of this stuff.

Cari, you saved me from the wrath of several exes, but can you please piece together the friendships I could lose? Please, bless the friends who confronted me today about the social media analytics with the courage to say, “We’re sorry. We were way too hard on you.” Do they not realize who you were? You are an angel in the sky, so I am guessing you can fly anywhere you want. Colorado is the only other place I’d rather be, and Trenton is the best guy I’ve been with. Honestly, relieve us of this snow. Take it all away with one swift stroke. I don’t think we need this. And give Arizona some cooler weather in June, and please, give California less and less wildfires. I don’t want friends in either one of those places to have to suffer any more. If only I had power beyond the wildest imagination of the others in the human race. Hell, I’d stop wildfires, bring rain, bring more rain, and plant trees. There might be a few control burns here and there, but really, I feel like there’s nothing I can do now. Cari, show me the way. Show the others that whoever has traumatized me in any way will have afflictions beyond their imaginations. One day, my family will be somewhere they don’t want to be, and they will be in so much trouble for fraudulently stating that I have “severe emotional handicaps.” It is this kind of thing that keeps me holed up in a burrow, not able to come out. There has to be something good to look forward to, and I wanted nothing but good things to look forward to. But seriously, I’d like to tune in to scopes but every time they come on, I’m usually at choir practice. I can’t help that I’m a choir member here, and that choir practice is on Wednesdays, when the Catalyst scopes are on, when the HIdden Truth Revealed radio program is on. When I speak of others, I certainly don’t feel any sort of way toward them.

Cari, maybe you never had boyfriends in school. You couldn’t have. I never heard a guy’s name mentioned regarding you. Cari if I could just give Orien Henry the last of what is here. Maybe I should’ve taken him to my senior prom, and yet, I never went to my prom. Full inclusion in society is a bear to me. Nobody has any real respect for a lady who isn’t employed, has nothing more than SSI, and so on. But is there hope? Cari, help me. You are probably the last hope I have in this life and the life after that.

If I died tomorrow, how many friends would say, “Good, she’s dead, we all hate her guts.”? How many people are gonna throw an Irish party that celebrates a world without me? How many people, including my own fiancé, will not grieve my loss? Tell me, who is the last person to grieve my loss? Perhaps people should realize that certain things they say do hurt, really do hurt.

One friend encouraged me to step outside the box. Another friend encouraged me to look beyond. And then betrayal began. Look, just because I can’t get transportation to choir practice on Sundays doesn’t give anyone license to sit here and say that negativity is all I post about. I want something positive to post about on Twitter and Facebook, but Trenton is sleeping now as I begin to rap this up.

What things can I possibly be thankful for? In this place, in this space, how can I be thankful that people turn on me? This isn’t thankfulness. I’m thankful that I breathe, that I can type the words I am typing now, but please. Cari, if you see this in your heavenly place, come back and call on me. I may never get married, have children, or live a normal life. But then, what will my purpose be? It doesn’t make sense now. It just doesn’t. I should probably let you know our power’s out, and there isn’t a restoration time. Please, Cari, help me.

With love,

Your friend,

Beth

Author: denverqueen

My name is Beth. I'm blind from birth and enjoy the blogging atmosphere. I am a creative person, a musician, a writer, etc. This is me. Take it or leave it.

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