I hope you are well, and not too mad at me to read this.
I’ve been crying a lot in the past week. Not because I’m in a particularly bad place. I’ve just decided to taper off my antidepressants before my annual dependence hits double digits. Now my brain’s throwing a tantrum. That’s not the reason for my writing this, though, I am glad for the emotional shot-in-the-arm it’s given me; the slap in the face, the hands gripping my shoulders, shaking vigorously, shouting “Wake The Fuck Up You Bloody Idiot.”
I’m sorry I neglected you. I’m sorry I let you down. I’ve been through enough therapy to know that I have a poisonous belief lodged deep down, that I do not deserve to get what I want. So, I self-sabotage. Regardless, I am sorry that I was not brave enough to trust you, or see what was truly important.
Let’s take a step back and contextualise this. I’ve always been a news junkie. In season 2 episode 3 of The Umbrella Academy, number 4 tells number 5 (a time travelling 58-year-old in a 13-year-old’s body, obsessed with saving the world) that
“we’re all addicts — you just got addicted to the apocalypse.”
I have never felt so called out. Maybe it gave me a feeling of control. Knowing as much as possible until I was in the right place to make use of it and make a difference. With everything going on in the news right now, my nonsensical delusions are quickly dissolving.
The shattering of one’s illusions and reckoning with a possible dystopian end of the world scenario in the next five years will really put your existence into perspective. Look, I know the sky might not actually fall down, but I’m grateful for the wake-up call. I wake up every day reminding myself to really appreciate everything in my life. And the antidote to existential doomerism is gratitude — to appreciate how far you’ve come, how much you’ve achieved.
When you met me I was lying face down in a puddle of my own grief. Compared to then, where I am now is unimaginable from where I was, and though I did the work myself, I owe you so much thanks, just to start. You were my friend when no one else really was. Every struggle I chose to get up and face is marked indelibly with your fingerprints. You were there, every day, helping me.
This time last year, I hadn’t performed in a play since I was 20. I had been practicing weekly improv in Maidstone for about 9 months, when a fan of mine in the group suggested I fill in a bit part that had become available in the Canterbury Shakespeare Festival’s upcoming production of Faustus. I ended up with three parts. By the same date this year that Faustus opened, I will have performed in 7 plays. Last week I performed for almost 700 people total, in a starring role as Hal in the Whitstable Playhouse’s production of Joe Orton’s Loot. In July, I will star as Peter Hunter at the same theatre in a production of — because yes, obviously — No Sex Please, We’re British!
Yep. Laugh it up babe. Laugh. It. Up.
In the last year and a half I have dated, with mixed results. I went on dates with two separate femcels. I didn’t think female incels could exist, but boy, were these ladies averse to immigration and physical intimacy. Believe it or not, one of them had a few years earlier run a sex/dating blog, the USP of which was that she was a 26-year-old virgin. She was waiting for the right man to have sex with (fair enough). Apparently, I was not the one. You can find her This Morning interview online.
It wasn’t all bad. It was varied, and I had one good relationship. She was lovely and we really got on. Unfortunately, she wasn’t you. By the time I met her (and you), I’d broken up with 3 young women that I had convinced myself, and them, that I was in love with. I just couldn’t lie to another lovely young woman because of my own bullshit.
Which brings us to you. I’ve tried dating. I’m still working on it, and I will continue until I get to where I need to be, but my heart’s just not in it. Not like this.
Because of my first experiences of love (my unavailable parents — let’s not go there), I’ve always been a hopeless romantic, while fearing intimacy more than anything else. Thankfully I’ve learned why I couldn’t open up. I didn’t realise that I looked at potential partners for what they might get for me, or the status that their attachment to me might confer. It’s taken years but I’ve let go of this cruel, objectifying, juvenile way of being.
I understand that love is about service. Not what you get, but what you give. I understand this now because when I look at you, I don’t just see a gorgeous, vivacious, brilliant young woman; I see someone I want to give my everything to. Not just in the big ways, supporting you physically and emotionally, but in every little small way I can. Like carrying your tote bag, making dinner on a busy worknight, or — yes, taking out the bins. When I look at you I’m desperate to ask “what do you want? Anything, just ask. I’ll get it for you. If you want the moon, I’ll steal George Bailey’s lasso.”
All these emotionally backwards men afraid of vulnerability would call me a simp, or a cuck, or some other such nonsense; but I know the truth. There is nothing more manly than submitting to the will of a good woman.
Get ready to wretch, because unfortunately for me you are not a good woman, you are the best. I am in awe of your character, dazzled by your talent, tickled by your humour, and just so bloody jealous of your courage. You just get out there and do things. You make pushing past your fear and into the unknown look like you have none.
You inspire me every day to challenge myself a little bit more to do the same. To seize my life while I still have it. In July, I will move house, to live for the first time with friends who share my values and who emotionally support each other. I got here with your help. I star in shows, I kill at my job, I get closer to my family, I seek new opportunities everywhere. My life has completely transformed in the last 5 years, and I will always be tremendously grateful for the help you gave me to finally get to this place where I ask myself every day: ‘What do you not want to have not done before you die?’
So, in August I’m going to Newquay on a surfing holiday. I do not want to die having not surfed a wave. I don’t know why. It just seems like an amazing thing to do. There is, however, something more important that needs my full attention.
I’ve been unable to really love anyone properly before, but now I know I can. What I mean is, love cannot be purely academic. It’s not just what you feel, but what you do about it. The thing is, I can’t love anyone else while you own my heart. Lotte, I don’t want to die without learning how to love. So here you are. I love you. If you feel the same, let me know. If not, please let me go. Until then, whatever this thing I’m feeling is — all my love, it’s yours. Always.
Your not-so-secret admirer,
Eliyah x
P.S
In case I wasn't clear enough, you are the most beautiful, incredible, wicked woman in the whole fucking world and I want to be with you. I literally do not care about anything else. The whole world can burn down for all I care.