A LETTER I WISH I COULD WRITE

Dear CG,

After I swore I wasn't going to email you this weekend I went ahead and did it anyway. It's now been more than 24 hours since I did it and you still haven't responded.

I think you and I got off on the wrong foot. And I'd really like the chance to fix that.

Subtlety isn't one of my strong points. I don't know how to be subdued and tactful and all that (although I've gotten better at it over the years). All I can do is be completely honest. Sometimes that gets me into trouble. And if I were actually sending this message to you instead of being a coward and putting it in my blog where you'll never see it, being honest with you would probably get me into trouble too. But here goes.

I like you. I don't know you very well, but you seem like a nice guy and I would like to get to know you better. I think we have a lot in common. We're both smart people with very healthy senses of humor, we have similar tastes in music, I think we'd have a lot to talk about if we ever sat down and talked. And I think in time we could be good friends.

Unfortunately, last week you got to know me a lot better than you should have. Thanks to fate and circumstance, you got to see my bad side before you really had a chance to see my good side. I wish I could take that back and erase it, but I can't . What happened, happened. I needed someone that night, and you were in the wrong place at the right time. You ended up being my therapist that night whether you wanted to be or not. And while I'm very grateful that you were there for me that night, it's not a position you should have had to be in. And for that I am sorry.

Yes, CG, I have my flaws. So do you. So does everybody. We are all human beings, and as such we are all inherently imperfect. But along with my bad qualities, I also have a lot of good qualities, just like you do. And I would love to have the chance to show you those qualities, just as I'd like to learn about yours.

Look at it this way: That night I blurted out to you that I have a psychiatric disorder. That means you already know the second worst thing there is to know about me. (For the record, the worst thing is something I will only discuss with a man with whom I am romantically involved. So if you want to find that out, you'd better start buying me flowers and taking me to dinner. Otherwise, fuggedaboudit.)

Bottom line: You can be my friend, or you can be my therapist, but you can't be both. And while you were an excellent therapist that night, I'd much rather have you as my friend. Besides, I' don't know how comfortable I'd be with a therapist who tells bad Bruce Lee jokes!

Much as I'd like to send you this letter, I know it would freak you out. So I'm just going to lay low and stay out of sight for a while. In the meantime, you should do a google search on generalized anxiety disorder. You might learn something.

For what it's worth, you rockdude...
- posted by Pat @ 11:44 PM