Blog fodder doesn't get any better than this and I've been experiencing some profound writer's block so thank you, anonymous-writer-whose-identity-I'm-quite-certain-about. But if a reader recognises the handwriting, and wants to confirm my suspicions, by all means:
Man, my cuticles look nice here.
As soon as I saw the envelope with the fake, uncreative return address I knew exactly what this was. (And to be clear, because I didn't include it in the photo, the attached card was to a psychiatrist in a nearby city.)
Not surprisingly, I have a few things to say. :-D
- There's the question of what prompted this. It could just be the culmination of many annoyances. I think I'm someone you either love to love or love to hate and I'm content with that. Imagine being someone who most people are ambivalent about?
Or, more likely, it could be my rant on my Facebook wall about Christmas letters and people in my life who just don't care enough. ? - Classy Letter Writer, have you not been paying attention? Have you not heard me mention that I've seen a few therapists? Do you not know that I was seeing a therapist the summer of 2008, something I've mentioned on this blog? Oh, you didn't know that? Then you don't know me well enough to be sending me a letter, duh. It's very simple: If you don't know me, don't assume that you know what I need better than I know, or than Jude knows, or than my best friends know. That's just stupid and you wouldn't want to be stupid, would you, because you can't get professional help for that -- you just might be stuck with that. If you do know me well enough to know this information, to know that I make regular mention of how messed up I am, then you didn't send me this letter with attached business card of a psychiatrist because you genuinely thought you were telling me something I don't already know. You had a different motive. Which brings me to Thought #3:
- Why not tell me this in an email or through Facebook? Why not send me a message saying, "Natasha, this may not be my place but I'm worried about you. Are you okay? You sound angry lately and if I'm getting that from what you say publicly, I can only imagine how badly you must be feeling privately. If I'm wrong, I'm so sorry. But if you are, is there anything I can do to help? Do you need someone to listen?" I would never get offended over such a message, nor would I lash out even if you caught me in an angry mood.
There's only one reason that a person would not speak to me like a big girl about her feelings: She doesn't want to help, she wants to hurt.
And if she's really just stupid, and the extraneous exclamation marks are not a sign of emphasis to mean, "you freak" at the end of her sentences, then why not be specific? I need help how? What do you think I should bring up with this psychiatrist? What in me have you noticed needs helping? I mean, if you really think that you can know what I need more than I know or anyone close to me knows, and that this gesture is a sincere and helpful one, then why not be as helpful as possible and be specific?
Like, carp, your letter came thiiiis close to opening up my world to the freedom of psychological paradise but because I'm so dense and unaware of myself I don't know what to get help for, and now I'm in a panic because all I know is that I have a problem and I don't know which one and I can't write you back to ask you because you marked your address as 132 Mye Place, [Nearby City], Alberta, H0H 0H0! I was blissfully unaware I had any problems and now I know I do because you say so and I don't know which ones! Oh, what Endless Hell of Wondering! Oh, Lord, please send the holy ghost to this woman to inspire her to send me another, more specific, letter! - Clearly, this was an effort to hurt me. Oh, honey. If I had your address I would send you an anonymous letter with superfluous exclamation marks and a Book of Mormon, letting you know that you need spiritual help and where to get it.
I have never done this to a person, nor would I. I tell people what I think if I think they really need to know. I try to be nice about it. I never deliberately try to hurt anyone, and whatever faults I have, I am clearly better off than you, CLW. I would never think it was my place to tell anyone that they needed psychological help unless they were a close friend, spouse, or offspring and it would be done under a banner of love. (Like, how stupid is my husband too, that he's unaware that I need help or is such a wuss that he wouldn't tell me?) (He's pretty unhappy about this, by the way. Which is the only thing that makes me mad: making Jude sad.)
It's not coincidence that the two most important commandments are the most difficult. Charity is hard. But I actually know that charity is something I'm pretty good at. There's certainly room for improvement, but ask my friends. Their names are safe in my home. We love them and don't criticise them, ever. We don't gossip about members of our ward. We don't tear people down. There's a couple of people who sometimes drive us crazy but we try not to indulge in criticism. One of us always reels the other in.
I have a strong personality that could be grating, especially to insecure women who find my confidence obnoxious because they wish they were so confident. I'm not everybody's person and that's okay. I don't blame you if you don't like me because I have an idea of how I can appear from the outside looking in. But because I know how I am from the inside looking out, I'm at peace with any perceptions. I'm passionate and opinionated and with all my many flaws (more than even you, CLW, know about) I still manage to think I'm great. That could be annoying, I understand. BUT, I am one of the most loving people you could ever meet. I am very generous and sincere, and I would never, ever send anyone a self-righteous anonymous letter or email, especially going out of my way to get an actual business card. I can't imagine spending so much energy hating someone that I'd want to send them a letter I'm so sure would make them angry/hurt/embarrassed that I can't sign my name to it. I don't hate ANYONE that much. Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye. - So, this letter had the inadvertent effect of making me feel better about myself. Classy Letter Writer: Don't quit your day job.
- I have issues? Yes, that's kind of what my blog is about: issues that a lot of people relate to, and how to get over them. And I know you read my blog-- it's why I'm writing to you here since you couldn't let me know your contact info. I have been working on my issues since I was seven years old. I read Marianne Williamson's A Woman's Worth and Stephen Covey's First Things First when I was twelve. I know my way around the self-help circuit. Just because I'm not all sorted out yet, just because I'm visibly struggling sometimes, just because I don't care if people know it, doesn't mean that I'm not working on things behind the scenes. Because I'm self-confident, despite being loopy and occasionally emotionally unhinged, doesn't mean that I don't think I have any problems. It just means that I'm okay with my flaws.
And every single time I go to a psychologist, I do most of the talking and they tell me how amazed they are at how well-adjusted and introspective I am. That doesn't help me out at all, so I give up and keep on doing what I'm doing. My friends are great listeners and great encouragement and tell me where I'm going off track.
So, given all that, seriously, what more would you have me do to please you, hmmm? Become perfect overnight? Shucks, if I could....
I trust that this will help you sleep soundly tonight. You can stop worrying your pretty little head off about me, 'kay?
Kisses!
Sincerely,
Natasha, conspicuously.
(Boy, tomorrow's funny arrogant-schtick post about my funeral is really going to look like it had something to do with this letter now. It's already all written and was written before I opened the letter. And I love that my 10-year-old son laughed his head off and totally got the joke about the flowers. Stay tuned. :-) )
