The Emerald City

a letter from the past

Posted in letters,life,love,relationships by Scaramouche on 27 May, 2008

27 May 08

Dear Angel,

This is you. Er… me. This is 17-year-old Angel in the year 2008, writing to the Angel I will be in the future. I wonder if I’ll ever look back on these words someday. And I am sure that I’ll read this opening paragraph and not know what the HELL I’m blathering about. I’ll tell you what I’m blathering about, man! (do I still get that reference?)

It is, as noted above, the 27th of May. Today is BEAUTIFUL. The sun is shining with all his might, the clouds are all white and floating lazily, puffily, through the blue sky. The trees are an ecstasy of green. And I’ve decided that it’s true what they say about spring — it is the time when one’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.

For I am in love. His name is ___ ______. [not for the world to see] His skin is luminous and soft, his eyes are five shades swirled together, his voice is gold, and he writes music in a tapestry of wonder and magnificence. He is my lover in every sense of the word. He is magic.

My reason for writing this letter, then is simple. I am writing to ask if you remember that boy. If you think back on these days with fondness, bitterness, regret, sorrow, anger… hate? I am writing to ask what the end of our story is. Do our dreams come true in the end and send me happily ever after with my Prince Charming? Or do I forget him? Does this love that I treasure more than anything else end up as just one more forgotten photograph buried deep in the cardboard boxes of my memory, one more old boyfriend to scoff at and mock for all his imperfections?

I’m writing you, my future self, to know these things. And, to implore you, never EVER leave this boy. Angel, he is the best thing to ever happen to you and if you leave him then I will kill you.

He is the best thing to ever happen to you. Don’t you DARE let him go. Don’t you DARE.



A Letter of Catharsis (had to be said, so deal)

Posted in letters,life,rage,relationships by Scaramouche on 31 January, 2008

Dear ______:

3 years ago, you and I dated for about five months. We were both in Grade 9. Both fourteen. You were my first boyfriend. I was what… your ninth? It was five months, wasn’t it? I’d like to say I can’t remember, but I do. Everything. I remember all you did. The lies. The guilt. The pain. Let’s itemize, shall we?

First. You are aware that I was a fourteen-year-old girl, right? You were my first boyfriend, the only guy who’d ever thought I was pretty. I was a kid. I didn’t know what real relationships were like. So I let you do things to me that I was not ready for. You made me go farther than I should’ve. A month into our relationship, I’d already done pretty much everything but actual sex. You would use me as nothing more than just an object. Make me pose for you. Make me do things to you. Make me let you do things to me. When I said no, I didn’t want to, you used guilt trips to make me feel like I was the one doing the wrong thing. You made me feel like if I said no, I’d either lose you, or I’d be the one hurting you. I thought I loved you. I agreed.

You lied to me. You’d pretend to like something just to make me like you more. You pretended to know things you didn’t, in an attempt to impress me. LYING DOESN’T MAKE ME LIKE YOU MORE! I felt betrayed, knowing you willingly deceived me. Knowingly deceived me. I felt weak and stupid, seeing how easy it was for you.

You physically hurt me. Remember the day you slapped me across the face? Remember how you initially spouted some bullshit about how you “thought I was someone else” – we’d been talking for a good half hour at that point, dumbass – and then said that it was my fault. My fault. It was always my fault. When you dislocated my wrist – which still gives me trouble, by the way, as it is right now – you said it was my fault.

It was always my fault with you, wasn’t it? You’d use things against me. Money you spent for me, gifts you bought me, unasked, would be used as leverage. Ways of making me feel as though I owed you. Like I didn’t deserve you. Like I was ungrateful. You selfish son of a bitch.

All that you did, I accepted. I still, foolishly, believed I was in love with you. Eventually, this culminated in you breaking my heart when I said I wanted to stop everything sexual. It left lasting scars, by the way.  I’m not going to say the most severe, because family members read this blog, but I still feel guilty whenever a guy spends money on me. I still feel like I have to rush the sexual side of relationships. Until very recently, I felt as though it was impossible for males to feel love. Because throughout this torture, YOU INSISTED THAT YOU LOVED ME. Hah. My wrist still hurts me daily. (On the ground screaming, you still didn’t stop twisting my hand.) And it is practically IMPOSSIBLE for me to feel beautiful. I don’t trust ANYONE when they say I’m pretty. Because you said I was, and you lied about everything else. Oh, and you remember this little line?

“I tell you you’re beautiful and smart, even though you’re NOT.”

You actually said that to me. You son of a BITCH! Why… what was going through your mind as you said these things? Did you think that you were honestly doing the right thing? Did you honestly think that was the right way to treat your girlfriend? REALLY? Thanks for the insecurity complex.

Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Right now, and for the rest of my life, all I want is for you to die. Just fucking DIE. You BROKE me.  Congratu-fuckin-lations. You’ve ruined me forever.



Dear Grandma:

Posted in letters,life by Scaramouche on 1 September, 2007

Hey, I’m writing again!

Things have been weird, and there really isn’t much to say. School starts in a few days, and I am NOT looking forward to it.  I haven’t gotten enough sleep this summer. I want to stay in bed!

The play was AWESOME. Awesome awesome awesome. I loved every second. Did I tell you that Allison dropped a rock on her foot and gashed it severely? She had to get ten stitches in her ankle and  it got infected and it just really wasn’t good. Of course, that meant that we needed a new lead, Aphrodisia. I stepped in as “understudy”. And it was fantastic! I did so well, and there was so much praise, I could barely stand it. My director practically fell in love with me, he was so happy. And the dress I got to wear! Oh, it was beautiful! Pure white and lacy and beautiful. The only problem was that I had to wear a corset. Unpleasant. But pretty. I looked fantastic. You would have loved the play, it was hilarious. And I got to sing on my own! I was so pleased.

That’s really all the news of note. I’m still with Aaron.  Things are going well, I suppose. I still miss you, and think of you every day. Most of us here do.

I hope to see you again soon. If you’re reincarnated somewhere, please try and stop by. I’d appreciate it.

Love you, Grandma.


Dear Grandma:

Posted in death,depression,letters,life by Scaramouche on 24 July, 2007

I miss you. That’s the first thing I have to say. I miss you so much.

It’s just past two on the morning of July 24th. Almost 3 months exactly since you died. (No, I will not say words like passed on, or crossed over. You died. That’s it.)  A lot has changed since you left. I broke up with my boyfriend, Justin, but we’re still best friends. I really wish you could’ve met him. He’s strange, but a real sweetie. I think you’d like my current boyfriend better, though. And I know he would’ve liked you. He’s big and strong and bearded, but behind his tough exterior, he’s a kitten. And he treats me so well, you’d definitely approve of him.

I’m in a musical, did you know that? It’s called Grand Delusions. I don’t like it very much – it’s a really bad musical, and a lot of the guys in it are extremely creepy. Allison’s in it too. I’m really nervous; my part’s small, but I still don’t want to screw it up. Allison has a really huge part, it’s crazy. Of course, most of her lines are “What? WHAT?! … what?” and it’s hilarious.

I have a really bad cold. I keep coughing like crazy, it’s very depressing. I am surviving on Halls, and that’s about it. Admittedly not the HEALTHIEST diet, but they taste excellent. I think I’m kind of addicted, which is bad.

I’m wearing your shoes right now. Barb and Meghan came to visit, and said that I might like them. They’re a bit too big, but I’m wearing them anyway because they remind me of you. Have I mentioned that I miss you a LOT? Because I do. Not a day goes by that I don’t wish you were back, sending me funny emails and encouraging me to keep writing. I loved it when you told me I was good at it. I also got socks from them. Remember they gave you odd socks? Well, I “inherited” them. I love odd socks. They’re weird but also FANTASTIC.

Polly got a tattoo. It is very cute. It’s “the loudest sound”. An exclamation point with three curved lines in front of it. Difficult to describe.

I’m getting better at playing the flute. I got a 96 on my exam piece! I’m also getting better at drawing – I’ve figured out how to draw eyes perfectly

I’m going to try to write to you every month. On the 24th. I think that’s appropriate.

I love you, Grandma. Talk to you again next month.