I Wanna Swim Away, but Don't Know How

Dear Jack,

I miss you.

Ever since you left, I haven’t been the same. I’ve been functioning, don’t get me wrong. I finished college; I did my work, and got the best grades I could. I moved back home and helped my mom and my little sister, tried to be everything they needed. But as soon as I didn’t have to put on a show anymore, I would break again. My wounds were too deep to heal quickly, but I had to pretend they did; I had to suck it up and get out the duct tape, and messily put myself back together in order to face the day. But as soon as I had finished the day, I would lie in bed and be consumed by my thoughts, most of them bad.

I still do that. I break again, every night. Maybe it’s the darkness, maybe it’s the instinct of needing a body by yours to keep you warm and safe. The point is, ever since I’ve graduated college, I’ve been seeing more and more of the night. More of the sadness. More of the deafening heartache. More of the heavy loneliness. That’s what it feels like without you here, Jack. I’m so lonely I can barely breathe.

It feels like there’s just…not exactly a cloud, but more like a weight over my head, pushing at me from all sides. It feels like I’m being crushed in the ocean, blackness is all around me and I can’t figure out a way to escape.

I don’t know if you’re still as dedicated to music as you used to be. There’s probably a lot about you I don’t know now. But if I had to describe my life in a song, to make it easier for you to understand, I would pick ‘Into the Ocean’ by Blue October. Give it a listen, for me.

There’s a lyric that goes, ‘I wanna swim away but don’t know how, sometimes it feels just like I’m falling in the ocean’.

Now that I have nowhere to go every day, nothing to distract myself with, that’s how I feel. Constantly. I can’t escape. And it’s killing me.

I know I should occupy myself. Put my degree to use and try to find a job, try to work my way up in the world. I know I should be making you proud, making my dad proud. But I can’t. I just can’t. It’s so hard, Jack.

I don’t know if you feel the same way I do. I don’t know if you’re experiencing the hurt that’s coursing through my veins, prickling me constantly, quietly tearing me apart. I like to think that you aren’t- I like to think that you’re happy, fulfilled, and doing things with your life that we never would’ve dreamed of. Yet this image doesn’t make it any easier to think of you. And I can’t stop thinking of you.

No matter how hard I try.

Every day I remember. I remember how you left.

It was just a normal “morning after”. We had gotten completely wasted at a party the night before, and upon waking up I didn’t remember a wink of it. I was just happy I was in my bed, in our apartment, and I wasn’t dead or kidnapped.

I remember blindly getting up and stumbling to the kitchen, where you were sitting at the table with your laptop and a mug of coffee. You smiled at me and gestured to the pot behind you, informing me that you made extra just because you knew I had an exam later that day. I remember returning your smile the best I could, so violently hung over that I could barely keep my eyes open.

It happened as I was stirring the sugar into my coffee. To this day I can’t put sugar in anymore; I have to drink it black. Anyways.

We both heard my door open, and looked at each other in surprise. There was someone else in our apartment. In my room.

A boy I didn’t know stumbled out, mumbling a good morning. He pulled his shirt over his head and ruffled his hair, then stood and gazed at me.

“Can I help you?” I asked.

“Don’t you remember, Alex?” the stranger countered.

“Clearly not,” I replied. I was searching my half-functioning brain for answers- who was this man, and what had I done with him?

“I fucked you last night, man,” he said bluntly.

Then it all came flooding back. Too drunk to consider my decision’s consequences, I had, in fact, let this complete stranger fuck me the night before. And I had a boyfriend.

My boyfriend was you, Jack.

I remember you turning to me, a mix of fire and hurt blazing in your eyes. “Alex, can you please show our ‘guest’ the door, please?”

Eyes on the floor, I escorted him out.

I never think of the next part. I always stop there.

But, to say the least, you left.

And it was, and still is, the most painful experience of my life.

I think it hurts so much because I know I was responsible. It was my fault; I was the one who fucked up (literally). I was the one who broke your heart, who broke the best thing that had ever happened to me, and, I hope, to you.

Our relationship was like gold. It’s cliché, I know, but to me it was. It was a once-in-a-lifetime thing. I had found my soul mate in you, and you had found yours in me. What we had was the perfect movie love- flawless, whole, and untarnished.

And I threw it all away.

That’s what kills me.

With you by my side, I had the world at my feet. With you, I felt like I could accomplish anything I laid my hands on.

And now, without you, I feel completely worthless.

I guess the point of this letter is to tell you I wish you would come back. I’m formally asking for a second chance with you, if you would ever think of deeming me worthy of one. I want to feel invincible again. I want to feel like I have everything I’ll ever need again. I want, and need, to feel whole again.

I promise I won’t do anything so utterly stupid again. I will treat you with all the respect and loyalty in the world. I will be everything you need and want me to be. I will do anything you ask of me.

I miss you so much. I miss your voice, your laugh, and your sleepy eyes in the morning. I miss the way you would hold my hand, crossing your thumb over mine just so. I miss your demeanor, how childish you were, but in a way that it kept me grounded.

The Jack I know was wonderful. He was gorgeous, he was funny, mesmerizing and charismatic. He was uplifting and kind-hearted. He was my best friend. I loved him then, and I love you now.

I wish I could say these words in person, but there’s no way. I threw your number away in a short-lived fit of rage, but I saved some of the letters you’d written me when I was away in Washington. I have no way of knowing if you still live at this address, but I’m crossing my fingers that it will somehow get forwarded to you.

I don’t know if you’ll ever read this. I don’t know if you’ll even bother opening it. But this is my last resort, Jack. It’s my last hope. I need your help putting myself back together. I can’t do it on my own.

Please.

Always, Completely, and Forever Yours,

Alex