"this is addressed to you." was conceived as a space to say everything you've ever wanted to say but haven't found the time, the words or the energy to convey. The space to say all those things you've deliberately or unconsciously edited or censored. It isn't just a space for me, but for all of you who've never quite managed to say it all. A safe space: no judgements, no recriminations, no anger: just everything finally laid bare.
If you'd like to post on "this is addressed to you." please e-mail addressingyou@gmail.com and please specify if you'd like to stay anonymous or link back to your blog!
The first ever guest post letter is by Alicia Anderson, and the blog couldn't have asked for a better first guest post. Her blog is here.
Alicia addresses her mother, after the jump!
25 December 2010
21 December 2010
You annoy me.
Hey you,
I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.
I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.
I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.
I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.
I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.
I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.
I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.
I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.
In hatred,
Person X
Why yes, there is some satisfaction gained from repeatedly screaming I hate you whilst imagining the person you're saying it to.
14 December 2010
a letter to christmas
Dear Christmas,
Now, I'm no Scrooge. I'll happily give to the poor, buy people things they don't need, and stick a huge smile on my face when little kids talk about St. Nicholas. But, Christmas, here's the thing: I don't care. I don't care about how Christmas is the time for "family" and "forgiveness" and "mince pies". Damn you, that is stuff that should be an all-year thing, and how the hell do you have a monopoly on it? Christmas, quite frankly, is the time for a holiday...and that is all, so stop pretending to be something you're not.
It's the end of the year, Christmas. I've had a tough year with people breaking bones, people dying, people crying, more work than I can possible handle, incredible stress, markets failing & flailing, debt, my parents being annoying, ending up single, a bad haircut... whatever. It's a been a whole year already and I'm ready for some downtime. Time off. To breathe, to recuperate, to get my shit together for the maelstrom that will be next year. Time for a holiday. And that is what your purpose in life is supposed to be.
I don't want to spend the last of my depleted energy and money and patience on sitting around in parties and being forced to attend Christmas dinners with a hodgepodge of people in uncomfortable shoes and a dress that's tight in all the wrong places. I don't want to validate some stupid idea of Christmas having to be about snow, hot chocolate and Rudolph. I don't want to put up fake trees and decorate the crap out of them and send my electricity bill sky high. Sure, it's pretty...but it's not something I care about. If other people want to do it, good for them. Don't make me suffer through it too.
I'm an atheist. I don't care about Christmas carols. I don't care about Baby Jesus. None of this has anything to do with me. So tell me, Christmas, why do I find myself in the middle of planning a Christmas Dinner for people who apparently do care about Christmas... but haven't any family to spend it with? Why, Christmas, does it fall on my uncaring shoulders?
Christmas, I don't want to go to some stupid Christmas dinner and cook and slave in a hot kitchen for people I don't know all that well. I want to lie in bed and watch stupid TV shows instead. I'm happy to stick presents under a tree and have people squeal with delight over them. Or pretend to. Whatever.
I'm not happy to waste the last few days of 2010 doing more crap I don't want to do so that somebody else is happy. I don't want to laugh at stupid Christmas jokes, or smile politely at suddenly religious people. I don't want to wear a dress and shoes and care about how I look. I don't want to watch Miracle on 34th Street for the millionth time. Or y'know, any other damn Christmas movie- except maybe Land Before Time. But guess what, Christmas, I'm stuck doing all this crap and more.
Next year, you'd better leave me alone. It can be my Christmas present. Also? Pass the mince pie.
Unhappily planning Christmas,
Someone who doesn't care about Christmas
Now, I'm no Scrooge. I'll happily give to the poor, buy people things they don't need, and stick a huge smile on my face when little kids talk about St. Nicholas. But, Christmas, here's the thing: I don't care. I don't care about how Christmas is the time for "family" and "forgiveness" and "mince pies". Damn you, that is stuff that should be an all-year thing, and how the hell do you have a monopoly on it? Christmas, quite frankly, is the time for a holiday...and that is all, so stop pretending to be something you're not.
It's the end of the year, Christmas. I've had a tough year with people breaking bones, people dying, people crying, more work than I can possible handle, incredible stress, markets failing & flailing, debt, my parents being annoying, ending up single, a bad haircut... whatever. It's a been a whole year already and I'm ready for some downtime. Time off. To breathe, to recuperate, to get my shit together for the maelstrom that will be next year. Time for a holiday. And that is what your purpose in life is supposed to be.
I don't want to spend the last of my depleted energy and money and patience on sitting around in parties and being forced to attend Christmas dinners with a hodgepodge of people in uncomfortable shoes and a dress that's tight in all the wrong places. I don't want to validate some stupid idea of Christmas having to be about snow, hot chocolate and Rudolph. I don't want to put up fake trees and decorate the crap out of them and send my electricity bill sky high. Sure, it's pretty...but it's not something I care about. If other people want to do it, good for them. Don't make me suffer through it too.
I'm an atheist. I don't care about Christmas carols. I don't care about Baby Jesus. None of this has anything to do with me. So tell me, Christmas, why do I find myself in the middle of planning a Christmas Dinner for people who apparently do care about Christmas... but haven't any family to spend it with? Why, Christmas, does it fall on my uncaring shoulders?
Christmas, I don't want to go to some stupid Christmas dinner and cook and slave in a hot kitchen for people I don't know all that well. I want to lie in bed and watch stupid TV shows instead. I'm happy to stick presents under a tree and have people squeal with delight over them. Or pretend to. Whatever.
I'm not happy to waste the last few days of 2010 doing more crap I don't want to do so that somebody else is happy. I don't want to laugh at stupid Christmas jokes, or smile politely at suddenly religious people. I don't want to wear a dress and shoes and care about how I look. I don't want to watch Miracle on 34th Street for the millionth time. Or y'know, any other damn Christmas movie- except maybe Land Before Time. But guess what, Christmas, I'm stuck doing all this crap and more.
Next year, you'd better leave me alone. It can be my Christmas present. Also? Pass the mince pie.
Unhappily planning Christmas,
Someone who doesn't care about Christmas
13 December 2010
dear friend,
Dear Friend,
I wish I could tell you this without hurting your feelings, without making you cry, and most importantly- without destroying years of friendship with words.
Words that I owe you.
You're practically the little sister I've never had, the girl whose arm has so often; been threaded through mine. There are photographs of us in my wallet: laughing, silly-faces.. still so young, so naive. I have wiped so many tears over the years, given you much advice, held your broken heart and glued it together with bad movies and ice cream. We've giggled over boys, deliberately crashed into each other in bumper cars, competed loudly over "Asshole!" and danced together at so many birthday parties.
I held your head above the toilet, held back your hair, rubbed your back. I cradled you when you thought you were going to die from the way your head throbbed. I half-carried you out of the hotel bathroom and deposited you in your fiancé's arms.
Over all these years, I have held you up, I have held you together. I have held you.
And so, I owe you these words:
"Don't do it."
Don't do it like this. When you're struggling with who you are and what you want. When you've never asked yourself the questions around who you are, what you want to do, what you believe, and the most essential question of all: who you want to be. Don't float along, taking it as it comes, or taking it because you're panicking.
You've never had to deal with the cruelty of life, for that I'm thankful. And at the same time, it makes me incredibly sad. You've never had to stand on your own two feet, never had nobody to rely on but yourself. You've never been pushed so hard that you've had to discover strength in the last place you expect: yourself. You've never looked around and realised that nobody can help you here, there is nobody else to ask, nobody else to help you make decisions. Nobody.
Just you.
And that is one of the most amazing things that can happen to you: that you know who you are and what you're made of. You know, with absolute certainty, that you can take whatever life throws at you- and you will survive.
You don't know how to be alone with yourself. You're too afraid to try. You fill up your hours with incessant chatter and bind yourself to your man. You're distraught when he does his own thing, when he goes off to pursue his own interests. You think it's because he doesn't love you.
No. It's because he's learnt to love himself.
Everybody needs space. Everybody needs their own time. It's good for you. It lets you be yourself, for you.
I have known every single boy you've dated, every single boy you've secretly watched, every single boy you've fancied. I know them all. And I have known you through every single crush, every single first kiss, every single hand hold.. every single time.
And you morph. You like what they like, you read what they read, you listen to what they listen. And it breaks my heart because as important as it is to take an interest in someone else's hobbies and likes... it's important to know what it is that you like and what you dislike. There is no "us", when there is only "him" and no "you".
Find yourself. Get out of your comfort zone, do something you've never done before- and do it because you want to; not because he thinks it's cool. Spend some time with yourself- learn to be alone, to get to know yourself... to like yourself.
I used to think that you'd grown up too sheltered, that you'd never seen the real world. That you exist in your world of never knowing debt, never seeing poverty that makes you stop breathing, never realising that there is no safety net. You exist in your world of never hearing "no, it's not possible" or "no, you can't afford that" or "no, is that really necessary?" and you don't even realise how lucky and privileged you are. You've had an amazing life... and you don't even know it.
You make yourself so unhappy about how different your life could be, you drown yourself in if onlys and what ifs, you dither on decisions and want somebody else to make them for you, you would rather wait it out than act.. and here's the thing: none of that will make you happy because you refuse to seize it. To step up. To make a decision and deal with the repercussions.
There is nothing called perfection. It doesn't exist. You create your own versions, your own meaning.
Please, don't get married. Don't marry him when he's coloured in the lines of who he is and you're still blank. His colours will bleed in and take over, when you haven't any colours to add. Don't marry him when you have no spaces of your own, to be yourself in. Don't marry him when you're not sure of your future, of what's going to happen and what you're going to do. Don't marry him when your dreams haven't even been articulated. Don't marry him because you think he'll make you happy: he will, but only if you pitch in... and you know you're too busy making yourself unhappy to do that. Don't marry him when you don't know the world. Don't marry him when you are so full of potential that you've never ever bothered to tap.
Please. Don't do it.
At least not yet.
With much love, friendship and heartbreaking concern,
Your Friend.
I wish I could tell you this without hurting your feelings, without making you cry, and most importantly- without destroying years of friendship with words.
Words that I owe you.
You're practically the little sister I've never had, the girl whose arm has so often; been threaded through mine. There are photographs of us in my wallet: laughing, silly-faces.. still so young, so naive. I have wiped so many tears over the years, given you much advice, held your broken heart and glued it together with bad movies and ice cream. We've giggled over boys, deliberately crashed into each other in bumper cars, competed loudly over "Asshole!" and danced together at so many birthday parties.
I held your head above the toilet, held back your hair, rubbed your back. I cradled you when you thought you were going to die from the way your head throbbed. I half-carried you out of the hotel bathroom and deposited you in your fiancé's arms.
Over all these years, I have held you up, I have held you together. I have held you.
And so, I owe you these words:
"Don't do it."
Don't do it like this. When you're struggling with who you are and what you want. When you've never asked yourself the questions around who you are, what you want to do, what you believe, and the most essential question of all: who you want to be. Don't float along, taking it as it comes, or taking it because you're panicking.
You've never had to deal with the cruelty of life, for that I'm thankful. And at the same time, it makes me incredibly sad. You've never had to stand on your own two feet, never had nobody to rely on but yourself. You've never been pushed so hard that you've had to discover strength in the last place you expect: yourself. You've never looked around and realised that nobody can help you here, there is nobody else to ask, nobody else to help you make decisions. Nobody.
Just you.
And that is one of the most amazing things that can happen to you: that you know who you are and what you're made of. You know, with absolute certainty, that you can take whatever life throws at you- and you will survive.
You don't know how to be alone with yourself. You're too afraid to try. You fill up your hours with incessant chatter and bind yourself to your man. You're distraught when he does his own thing, when he goes off to pursue his own interests. You think it's because he doesn't love you.
No. It's because he's learnt to love himself.
Everybody needs space. Everybody needs their own time. It's good for you. It lets you be yourself, for you.
I have known every single boy you've dated, every single boy you've secretly watched, every single boy you've fancied. I know them all. And I have known you through every single crush, every single first kiss, every single hand hold.. every single time.
And you morph. You like what they like, you read what they read, you listen to what they listen. And it breaks my heart because as important as it is to take an interest in someone else's hobbies and likes... it's important to know what it is that you like and what you dislike. There is no "us", when there is only "him" and no "you".
Find yourself. Get out of your comfort zone, do something you've never done before- and do it because you want to; not because he thinks it's cool. Spend some time with yourself- learn to be alone, to get to know yourself... to like yourself.
I used to think that you'd grown up too sheltered, that you'd never seen the real world. That you exist in your world of never knowing debt, never seeing poverty that makes you stop breathing, never realising that there is no safety net. You exist in your world of never hearing "no, it's not possible" or "no, you can't afford that" or "no, is that really necessary?" and you don't even realise how lucky and privileged you are. You've had an amazing life... and you don't even know it.
You make yourself so unhappy about how different your life could be, you drown yourself in if onlys and what ifs, you dither on decisions and want somebody else to make them for you, you would rather wait it out than act.. and here's the thing: none of that will make you happy because you refuse to seize it. To step up. To make a decision and deal with the repercussions.
There is nothing called perfection. It doesn't exist. You create your own versions, your own meaning.
Please, don't get married. Don't marry him when he's coloured in the lines of who he is and you're still blank. His colours will bleed in and take over, when you haven't any colours to add. Don't marry him when you have no spaces of your own, to be yourself in. Don't marry him when you're not sure of your future, of what's going to happen and what you're going to do. Don't marry him when your dreams haven't even been articulated. Don't marry him because you think he'll make you happy: he will, but only if you pitch in... and you know you're too busy making yourself unhappy to do that. Don't marry him when you don't know the world. Don't marry him when you are so full of potential that you've never ever bothered to tap.
Please. Don't do it.
At least not yet.
With much love, friendship and heartbreaking concern,
Your Friend.
10 December 2010
a letter to a past lover
Dear Past Lover,
Sometimes, I pretend you don't exist.
I pretend that you never held my hand or yanked my shirt off. That we never argued or that a friend never told me that you just weren't the right kind of boy for me. I pretend that you didn't laugh at how my bra straps didn't match my bra sometimes or that I never pulled you towards me to inhale you+Davidoff Cool Water.
I pretend that I don't think of you when I see that aquamarine bottle. That I'm not assaulted by the smell of you.
Sometimes, I pretend you don't exist.
When people ask me how many boyfriends I've had, I forget (deliberately, at times) to count you. I don't quite know why. It isn't that you hurt me or betrayed me, or that I'm still angry about all the crap that saw us go weeks without speaking...until this thing didn't make sense anymore and it was time to call it a day. No, it isn't any of that.
It isn't that you were a particularly terrible boyfriend- believe me, I've had worse. It isn't that you don't fit into my normal pattern of "men" or that you'd never even heard of Camus...
It's the unibrow.
It works for some boys. It doesn't for you.
In vanity,
A Past Lover
Sometimes, I pretend you don't exist.
I pretend that you never held my hand or yanked my shirt off. That we never argued or that a friend never told me that you just weren't the right kind of boy for me. I pretend that you didn't laugh at how my bra straps didn't match my bra sometimes or that I never pulled you towards me to inhale you+Davidoff Cool Water.
I pretend that I don't think of you when I see that aquamarine bottle. That I'm not assaulted by the smell of you.
Sometimes, I pretend you don't exist.
When people ask me how many boyfriends I've had, I forget (deliberately, at times) to count you. I don't quite know why. It isn't that you hurt me or betrayed me, or that I'm still angry about all the crap that saw us go weeks without speaking...until this thing didn't make sense anymore and it was time to call it a day. No, it isn't any of that.
It isn't that you were a particularly terrible boyfriend- believe me, I've had worse. It isn't that you don't fit into my normal pattern of "men" or that you'd never even heard of Camus...
It's the unibrow.
It works for some boys. It doesn't for you.
In vanity,
A Past Lover
09 December 2010
a letter of introduction
Dear Reader,
Have you ever gotten into an argument, walked away feeling wretched, and suddenly a few minutes or hours after it's all done; you're struck by the perfect, cutting response? But, as it turns out, there's nobody to say it to.
Have you ever been in a situation where you're unable to articulate your thoughts, or every comment you make is dismissed? Perhaps the person your words are directed at is difficult to reason with, perhaps you're unsure that there is a cause for words, or perhaps you're afraid of what your words will wreak.
The best way to say all these things that are left unsaid; only thought about over and over again, is by writing it down and addressing it to you: the object of ire, disappointment, joy, affection, unrequited love, the biggest regret ever had.
These are the letters addressed to you.
Hello.
Have you ever gotten into an argument, walked away feeling wretched, and suddenly a few minutes or hours after it's all done; you're struck by the perfect, cutting response? But, as it turns out, there's nobody to say it to.
 |
| picture by chantal |
The best way to say all these things that are left unsaid; only thought about over and over again, is by writing it down and addressing it to you: the object of ire, disappointment, joy, affection, unrequited love, the biggest regret ever had.
These are the letters addressed to you.
Hello.
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