It's really a shame that I didn't start talking to you earlier in life. I went so long not knowing that such a wonderful human was only a few doors down from me. It's kind of a crime, now that I think about it. To be in the presence of someone so endlessly kind and yet have no idea that I was to begin with. But, lost time aside, I'm so happy that I have you now. So I guess you could call this a love letter. Because I really don't think you truly understand the impact you have on the people around you. And I really don't think you give yourself the credit you deserve. You, my friend, are so much greater than you will ever know. And I plan to show you that.
You, sweetheart, are the low-key friend that I have always wanted. You're basically like the hipster movie, John Green-esque best friend that I have always fantasized about. You're not perfect, you and I both know that. Your specific brand of messed up is essentially the exact counterpart of mine. And together we're like this beautiful, socially anxious, emotionally stunted yin-yang that I love more than anything. It comforts me so much to know that —a few times a week—I have you to eat away my feelings with. It comforts me to know that I just have to walk a few feet from my house to find a person that I can share every part of myself with. And I think the most comforting thing of all is the fact that when we're together, we don't even have to talk. We can sit on opposite ends of the room, doing our own things and throwing the occasional snack at each other. Things are just easy with you, and that's all I could ever want in a friendship.
I spend a pretty decent amount of time worrying about you, and I think you know that. I never want you to think that what you go through is your fault. You are not to blame for the things that go on inside your head. But I spend a pretty large amount of my time worrying that you aren't safe enough, happy enough, loved enough. There was a time when I really wondered what life would be like without you. Those thoughts terrified me. I was almost convinced that—one day—I was going to get a phone call saying that I'd lost you. You need to know how loved you are, my friend. And I don't ever want to picture a world without you again.
And maybe that's why—every time you tell me you're relapsing or just having a bad day—I go out of my way to give you something. You always smile and tell me you don't need anything, but I really think you do. I'm not hoping to buy your affection or give some twisted form of charity. I just want you to feel how loved you are, and I worry all the time that you might not know that. I like to focus on the little things in life to make myself happy, and I plan to fill your life with as many little things as I possibly can. It's becoming something of a personal mission of mine. If you can look at that tiny stuffed dog or cute pair of socks and remember that someone would care if you weren't here, then I'll know I've done my job right.
You, my love, give me purpose in life. On a strange and possibly selfish level, my friendship with you seems to satisfy this urge that I have always had to feel needed. And I know you're scared you'll feel like a burden to me, because I get the same way. But my point is that I will never stop wanting to help you, because I will always love doing it. That's just how I am. I love being the one that you go to when things in your head get a little too rough. I love being the person that you trust with every scary thought that you might have. And I absolutely love being the person that you feel safe with. I am now and will always be 100% okay with being your speed dial friend. I won't ever get tired of you and you will not ever be a burden. I just want to help. And that's all I've ever wanted to do.
We've been through a lot together, me and you. And I can only hope that you're anywhere near as thankful as I am for every last second of the past five years. You are a loved person. And I hope that at least some part of this letter proves that to you. I'm not trying to give you the same bullshit, regurgitated, Hallmark-level speech that everyone gets about dealing with anxiety and depression. You and I both know that just saying, "The sun will come out tomorrow," isn't going to fix things. It's so much deeper than that. If I could say one thing right now to you, it would be that you're stuck with me. And no amount of convincing will ever change my mind. I'm always in your corner, and I can't imagine any other place that I'd rather be.