Dear Munchkin

Dear Munchkin,

There are many things I should thank you for. So many things I want to do, should do, for you. There’s no way you could possibly know this, but you saved my life. You’ve saved my life numerous times in the mere two years we’ve known each other. And I don’t know what’s worse: the way I used to be or the fact that I can’t thank you for all of the things you’ve done for me without realizing it. I really wish that I could have that one serious moment with you, that moment when I’d look you in the eye and say the words “Thank you for everything”, meaning them with all of my heart and soul, every single fibre of my being. But then you’d have to ask what for and I wouldn’t be able to answer. I wouldn’t be able to give you the answers you deserve because, despite everything, I don’t want you to think worse of me or pity me. And if it proved to be too much for you to handle, I wouldn’t be able to cope without you. I know that I’d be depressed; you’re like the sunshine in my life, the only bright part of my every day. You – you saved me, little Miss Independent, Miss I-Don’t-Need-Anyone, Miss Lonely. You taught me how to feel again, how to love, how to forgive. You taught me how to live when all I wanted was to die. So no, I wasn’t exaggerating when I said that you saved my life. I was in a downward spiral, accelerating toward my fate. And then you and your light, your natural happiness and genuinely kind nature, you stopped my descent into Hell and ever since I met you, you’ve been slowly digging me out of the hole I created for myself. I’ll be the first to admit; I was destroying myself. I flung myself into anything, any situation that would prove detrimental.

I used to cut every day. And not your neat, razorblade cuts. Those were too neat for me. I preferred the raggedness and tearing of a needle point, the ugliness of it all. I used to drink every weekend, marinate my mind in the alcohol. I’d get so drunk I couldn’t remember what I did. And I’d smoke cigarettes like they were going out of style. Chain-smoke eight or nine when I could get away with it. And I stole. I had to, to fuel my habits. I stole liquor from my family, cigarettes from my grandmother, money from both. And then I got into pot. I wouldn’t smoke the stuff, but I ate brownies rich in TLC whenever I could find or make them. Sometimes I did all of these things at once. Those were the times when I really couldn’t remember what I did; where I didn’t even get the few and far between screen-shot snippets I’d receive when I solely drank.

I also thought about suicide. I didn’t feel like I had anything to live for and I felt like the entire world was resting on my shoulders. I couldn’t take the pressure from my parents. I didn’t think I’d be able to be what my mother and father wanted me to be. I didn’t think I was good enough for anything. I was insecure, unconfident, and depressed. I thought about the best way to go about it. Slitting my wrists would take too long and be too painful. Pills would give me a stomachache. I wouldn’t be able to get my hands on a gun. I thought about jumping off a bridge, but I wanted to have a funeral. I didn’t want to drown myself or hang myself. I wanted a quick, purely painless exit. So I’d decided to get run over by a car. And a couple of nights, I almost went through with it. But I didn’t; I managed to regain enough control because of you. Because you would never choose the coward’s way out. You would fight to the death and go down, guns blazing.

But then there was the sex, or rather the thoughts about it. Sometimes all of this wouldn’t cut it. I’d need a real release, something Earth-shattering. But I didn’t have the skills or patience for a boyfriend or a “friends with benefits” scenario. So I lied about my age and signed up for a sex website where you’d meet and find other people in your city simply to get off. I’d thought it was brilliant, precisely what I was looking for. Now, I am so thankful, so grateful that I never went to that first meeting; so relieved that I didn’t sell myself so cheaply. And it’s all due to you.

So, if you catch me staring at you, thanking you more than you deem necessary, or going out of my way to help you, it’s not empty words or gestures. It’s the only way I feel I can repay you for everything you’ve unknowingly done for me. I can’t just come out and say it, but I can piece my thanks together slowly, over many years, until all of the parts equal the whole. Maybe one day, when you’re older, when you’re less innocent, and when I’m ready I’ll tell you the whole story and the principal part you played in the screenplay of my life. Maybe one day, I’ll be able to thank you properly for just being you and saving me unconsciously. Or maybe one day, it’ll be too late and all you’ll get as they wheel me into the crematorium is this letter, if I’m brave enough in death to give it to you.

I’ve already told you that I’ll be your friend until I die, and hopefully even after that. I get the feeling that you’ve never believed me when I’ve said it, but it’s true. Even if you beg me not to be your friend, to leave you alone, I’ll do as you say, but I’ll still work on your behalf from the sidelines, the back room, behind the curtain. And if in the next life or the great beyond I get the opportunity to help you, guide you, save you… I’ll take every chance, every possibility. I solemnly swear that I will do everything within my abilities to get you wherever you need to go. Because you saved my life, Munchkin, and that’s a debt I can never fully repay. I’ll always be there for you, always be your rock, and I’ll always love you.
No matter what, I’m here for you.

Love,

Your Knight in Tarnished Armour