Dear Sir

Dear Sir,

You don’t know me. Well, we met once. The day after Christmas. Boxing Day, if you will. Our interaction was brief, one you probably barely even remember. But for me, it meant everything.

Our conversation saved my life.

I was having a rough time. A really rough time. The worst Christmas of my life. And you, good sir, you treated me like someone who mattered. Someone special. Someone worth being alive.

Oh Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree

Why have you abandoned me?

Sorry, apparently we’re getting to the homewritten poetry part of this letter. Sometimes when I’m depressed I write poetry. I know, I know, I never said I was any good at it.

Let’s go back a bit, okay? Seven and a half months ago. Early May of this year.

Wait, should we go back further? Nearly ten years ago my parents got divorced. My mom, honestly never the greatest mother in the first place, quickly remarried and moved with her new husband to Tennessee. Far, far away. So long, mom. It’s been real.

I lived with my dad. Just the two of us. He held various jobs, none too great, but damnit the man tried. He was a good father, doing the best he could. He was always there for me. It was the two of us together against the world.

Then, in May… he passed away. Sudden heart attack. I was devastated.

Thankfully, my fiance Katie helped me through that. She was my rock. I got through it with some time, some long conversations, and plenty of tears and hugs.

I suppose this is where we should fast forward again.

Black Friday… Katie told me she was leaving me. She was seeing someone on the side. Curtis, her best guy friend since college. I guess there were always feelings there. But “the timing never worked out”. Apparently it was time. Times up on our relationship. Curtis time.

It’s tempting to compare tragedies. I waffle back and forth - was my dad’s shocking death more devastating than my shocking breakup? Or the other way around?

It probably doesn’t matter which was worse. Because together, they broke me. For nearly a month, I’ve been a zombie, drifting through life. A bit in shock. Periods of utter depression. Anger. Bargaining (not proud of that one). All those steps. When’s acceptance arrive again?

Sadness costs nothing, and brings no relief as well

I sit here in my own little holiday hell

Sorry, more poetry. I’ll stop.

Christmas was brutal. As an only child, with my father deceased and my mom miles away, I had no family. No fiance. I’d decided to treat myself to some new Airpods, go for a long hike, and then some Chinese carryout. I’d binge a show or read a book. Try to forget how terrible my life was.

That didn’t go as planned. I opened my present to myself, which was the saddest thing I could have done to start the day. It was raining, so no hike. I tried watching TV. I began drinking by 10:30. This continued throughout the day.

I can’t say I’ve ever had thoughts of suicide on Christmas before then. It was my own little warped version of It’s a Wonderful Life… but I didn’t see any happy ending coming my way.

By nineish I stumbled across the bottle of sleeping pills in my desk drawer. I stood before my desk, holding the bottle. Preparing myself to take one. Or a few. As many as it took.

I didn’t want to FEEL anymore. I wanted to sit down on the floor, back against the wall, and just… fade away. Fade away into nothingness. Into death.

It sounded like relief.

I’ll fade into nothing, leave me be

This is the better solution, can’t you see?

I lied. More poetry was written.

I opened the bottle, but there was only a single pill. I took it and chased it with a hefty swig of whiskey.

I considered other options. And I was so god damned depressed, I might have tried some other means to end my own life. But everything else I could think of involved pain. And I don’t like pain. I don’t have a gun. I hate knives and any types of blades. I hate blood.

So I took my solitary pill, drank some more whiskey, and laid down on the couch.

The next morning I woke up, groggy and hungover, but with a sense of purpose. I had a handful of pretzels and made my way out the door. I drove the four blocks to the pharmacy.

First I grabbed some Doritos and a soda, then made my way towards to meds. Maybe it was the grogginess, but I couldn’t find what I was looking for. So I asked the pharmacist. I asked you.

In a stark contrast to my mood, you were the absolute quintessence of sunshine. Cheery, smiling, helpful. Honestly? At first it was a little annoying. But within seconds I was sucked into your orbit of positivity. I was helpless, even in my sad state of existence.

“How can I help you?” you asked with a smile.

“I’m, uh, looking for sleeping pills,” I muttered, refusing eye contact.

You considered the question, giving it some thought.

“Well, we have a couple kinds. Some are stronger, much more effective. But they CAN be addictive, I should warn you. Some people have also complained that they leave them feeling groggy the next morning.”

The next morning. I knew this was not something I’d need to worry about.

“Then there’s this kind. Less strong, but will still get the job done. Non-addictive, that’s a plus.”

“Thanks…” I couldn’t make a decision.

You examined me. Probably thinking to yourself, wow this dude is a mess. Non-addictive is probably the best bet for him.

You smiled. Man, your eyes. Nothing but pure kindness. Caring for another human being.

“So, tell me, have you been having trouble sleeping?”

I was frozen, unsure of how much to give.

“Sorry if I’m overstepping… but are you okay?”

Huh? Who was this guy? Why did he care? What was your game, man?

I gave a slight nod. You didn’t buy it. You were too good of a person.

“How was your Christmas?” you asked with an innocent smile.

“Oh… uneventful.”

“Did you get to see family?”

“No… my dad passed back in May.” I don’t know why I offered that.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. My mom passed away last year. Cancer. It was brutal."

Damn, cancer. How did you stay so positive?

“Yeah, my dad had a heart attack. Pretty sudden, actually. He was 63. Relatively healthy. Definitely a shock.”

“So sorry for your loss. Hey. I know it’s not for everyone, but I found a support group. Not tied to any religion or anything. Just down the street. They’re very welcoming. I can give you their info. They really helped me. I still go every now and then. They meet every Tuesday night.”

“Yeah… maybe.”

“Completely up to you though.” How the hell were you so nice?

“I… my fiance. She left me. The day after Thanksgiving. Black Friday. I’d just gotten back from Best Buy.” I had absolutely no idea why I was telling you this. What was wrong with me?

“Oh. Wow. Man, I’m so sorry.” Well, I’d just made things awkward. Even you were now speechless. But you persevered.

“Hey… if you ever wanted to get a cup of coffee or something… you know, just as a friend… I’m here. I work every weekday. Just swing by.”

It’s funny, I don’t have too many friends. Check that, it’s not funny at all. It’s sad. I had a good friend in high school, then some solid college friends. But no one lives in town. I have a handful of people I’ll text with, or periodically call on the phone. But really, no one to just grab a drink with, whether that be a beer or a cup of coffee.

And here you were, offering just that. A cup of coffee. Friendship. Human connection.

I suppose there’s hope, maybe a little

But I’m still fragile, really quite brittle

Sorry, sorry, sorry. I told myself I’d stop with the crappy poetry. That should be it.

I smiled. Maybe my first real smile in weeks, or even months. Since the last time I saw my dad.

I didn’t commit to anything. I said something along the lines of “yeah, maybe” and made my exit. I didn’t even buy any sleeping pills. Amazingly, at that moment I didn’t feel like I needed them.

That was about a week ago. Since then, things have been looking up, even slightly. I’ve really cut back on the drinking. I’ve gone for some good hikes. I’ve slept better, even without pills or booze.

I haven’t taken you up on that cup of coffee. I should, I should. But you know what? That offer. That offer did wonders. It saved me. It gave me hope. People, even someone I JUST MET, care about me. I matter as a person. Other people want me to stay alive.

I’m writing this letter. Honestly, I probably won’t give you this. It’s pretty freaking heavy and dark and not something you just drop on someone. But it’s been therapeutic for me to write.

Instead I may take you up on that coffee.

Anyway, I’ll end this here, before I’m tempted to throw in some more lousy poetry.

But Sir, whatever your name is (how did I not get your name??), just wanted to say…

Thanks.