You Have to Believe Me. Honest.

My dear friend,

There's always so much more to tell. Why the hell am I like this??? I don't know why I am always mad at one thing or another. I am pretty much always angry at everything and everyone, and not just at others, at myself too.

Damn!! Me. I am surely the damned; who cares, by the way. I am crippled, messed up in a way nobody can recognize. I always wear this goody face, but do you know how badly my mind is messed up? It's damaged to a level where it could not be mended properly in the near future. Future!!!!! This scares me to hell!!!! Seriously, I am not writing for the sake of writing. You have to believe me. Honest.

I don't know why it is always you I like to write to. I have written to you before, asking what made you think and act to change the way you were back when, as you say, you were different. You were annoyed for sure, but you wrote back anyway that you were not that super great and I don't have to think that way.

Next I wrote you that letter on your birthday, telling you how I could have accepted the friendship and how I would have loved it. I meant all of it anyway. But it's not normal, is it?? No way. Who am I to you? What am I to you? Am I anything after all? Who do I think I am, to write such stupid big notes, messages and letters to someone who could be doing anything important, or less important, or nothing important?

All boys (or I should call them men now that everyone is above 21; it seems stupid to call anybody aged over 22 a boy!) at this age would be running behind jobs and trying to be successful; yearning to earn more and more money and get their future secure; playing soccer, basketball, volleyball, tennis, badminton, cricket and many more sports and becoming famous; ogling girls and women; flirting and falling in love and planning for the future; helping parents, and riding over them now that they have done what they had to do. Now that we are capable of doing what we want in our lives, we talk to them squarely.

You know, the wicked thing about me is that I am both confident and diffident. I have the guts to do things when I think I don't have enough guts to do things. But anyway, I don't have guts, that's clear, because I am always nervous to talk to teachers and lecturers (now you may say that's common, you idiot). But what about friends, siblings, Dad and Mom? I am (was, is) always scared to play, whether it was sports, where I showed how bad I was, or any game where I might have been good if only I had tried harder.

Well, I didn't want any kid or elder to laugh at me when I fell. See, since the age of, what, 4? I did not fall. Honest. You have to believe me. Because of fear. Oh!! I fear everything. Then I never spoke up!! You know, when I was little, say under 3, I was such a lovely kid. I remember how active I was, how versatile I was. I have such a sharp memory of those days. I spent those days at my grandparents' places, both maternal and paternal. I was a lonely kid since then, and I have grown up to be the same now. We lived on a farm, so I had no connection to any kid my age. I feel sad.

The problem is, the reason I didn't wish to fall is that I didn't want the people around me to laugh at me and make fun of me.

Well, at the times when I am supposed to be like everyone, I see others and start thinking: look at that guy, so different he is; in whatever way, at least he is achieving his goal and doing better.

Though I am sensitive and responsible, I don't really respect anyone, because I want everything to happen my way. I always had my own distinct thoughts, and I wanted everybody to abide by them, at home, in school and in college. In school I felt I was superior and I saw others as inferior, but I was not mean; it was only because their way of presenting and being was just different, and I wanted everyone to be just good and better. I must be greatly ashamed. It's not only about playing sports: whenever I had to face sarcasm, I cried, only cried like a baby, even when I was 15. Then I stopped. I have not cried in public since then, only when no one was around. I felt that boys weren't supposed to cry, so I kept it to myself.

I was, or am, very possessive about people. At college I didn't make friends for the same reason: friends would get closer, and I wouldn't want to lose any of them at any point until my last breath. I wanted to be cared for a lot. I wanted to be important to the people I care about. I wanted to be loved a lot. That's what I was taught all my life: to care more, to put others before myself. But I became selfish. I did, so I have become sickeningly alone and squeamish. You know what? Now closeness only offends me. I feel sad about it. That's why I am always looking sad, you know. That's why my face is emotionless, you know. That's why I don't laugh, because I fear people will laugh at the way I laugh. I know my laugh and smile are good; you said you have noticed. Thank you, friend.

So do you know now why I didn't talk to the group when you were all gathered in one place? I loved you all; I truly do. But I failed to respect you all. I failed to get your confidence. I realize my goodness has made me love all the people around me, but I lack the ability to take action. You were right, friend: I am not a volunteer. Sure, I have great principles, but what are they without implementation?

You know how pure I was. Any boy of 16 who doesn't discriminate by gender is so much more pure and innocent (you'll think I'm exaggerating), even angelic. You have to believe me. Honest. But I am not that good anymore. I am the result of teachings, friend. I don't know whether you would understand what I am going to say next. I respect all humans (I know I said I don't really respect anyone; "really respect" and "respect all" are different, believe me), because until I was, what, 18, I saw everyone as humans and only as human beings, not as boys and girls or men and women. That's true, you have to believe me.

I am both truthful and contradictory at the same time. Now there's an altered image in my mind. I am not that good anymore. I should have stayed that way at least; that wouldn't have made me this sad!!! I would have been happy.

This is the reason why I didn't understand, and was insensitive, when you guys talked about girls; I didn't know how to interpret it and failed to catch up. I avoided the talk in school and in pre-university college. And in college, where it was at its height, I damned myself.

I feel sad because this was also one of the reasons I was made fun of. You guys used to talk about sex and all of that, and you guys expected me to talk (when I say "you guys", it's the group), but I didn't — not because I was shy or coy. I avoided talk with other boys; even when I heard about it, I didn't know or understand it exactly, because I clearly ignored it. I knew minimal computer usage, gaming was far away, and this was far, far away. It means that I didn't know, that's all, and you guys failed to understand that. You either thought I was too shy to talk or I was hiding things. But I have done some truly mean things, so I deserve this kind of treatment, I know. People only didn't say it out loud because I had already shown them how sensitive I was. Thanks to that.

I never spoke up. I had the chance, but I didn't budge. Even now I haven't learnt a thing, because I simply compromise, and I am left saddened again.

I messed up with my project mates. I pretty much know they hate me for what I did to them. But then even they didn't understand how I was; they saw an advantage in my being their project mate. I thought I could help them, but I failed, since I lacked the skill to mingle and hold everyone together. I don't want to be dominating like you, friend, but I do want to hold on to each person I know, just like you. That's true skill, right?? And it would be selfless too.

I never expressed my needs to my parents. My desires and what I yearn for are not what I have become today.

I am so conscious about everything, small or big. Today, if there are only negative things on this paper, it's all because of me. I walk stupidly, I talk stupidly.

I am suffering; there is more to this. Why should I feel like this? Oh insanity, go away.

Why the hell am I writing to you? Why do I do this? Believe me, I am trying to restrain myself; it's only getting worse, because I have poured myself out here. It's not nice to tell mean things to friends. I hope you get it. From what I know, you wouldn't be able to read something so long; you would lose interest. But if you read it, oh my god, what will you say? I hate it. Believe me, I tried to stop myself; I just wasn't able to. I wish I could only write nice things to you. I am sorry, please forgive me. I am acting childish now. Oh, what should I do to make myself right?

When I scrolled up and saw the beginning of this letter, I was astonished that I had started so informally. I was sad, so I wrote like that. But I am more conscious now, so it's peculiar of me to ask formal questions. Sorry to ask this here, but I would love to say hi.

Maybe I like you so much because I have always noticed you saying, "I have to do this, I have to be in position #1," and mostly you attain it. Don't ever think that I am praising you, I am not! Okay. Because you are also one of the reasons why I am sad today: you make me jealous, friend, and I don't want to be jealous.

I am sure I may never see you again in person in my life, because I don't have the courage for get-togethers. Maybe I will see you if I get any better in the next few years. Maybe you will forgive me for having written this mean letter and sad post, where I haven't even asked you:

1. "How have you been for the last few months?"
2. "How have you been studying?"
3. "What are the special things you have been doing?"
4. "I saw your updates. Have you been travelling? If so, how was all this travelling?"
5. "Do I get to talk to you over the phone ever? Would you like to talk to me?"

Lastly, I am truly sorry for being squeamish; I shouldn't have done this. I won't say more; I have already said enough to make you mad at me.

Why do I feel like you are going to hate this? I hope you don't.

Love always,
Pavan