Dear Corey,
I can’t believe we met when I was a freshman in high school, because now I’ll be a freshman in college! Who would have thought that our friendship would last this long? Honestly, who would’ve thought that we’d even be friends in the first place? You were a senior, and I was a freshman. You were working on Your Gold Award. I was working on adjusting to high school. You were getting ready for college. I was getting ready for drama club auditions next week. We were in two totally different worlds. At first you probably didn’t want anything to do with me because I was a freshman. And, well, you were a senior, so I was kind of scared of you.
You know, you’ve really been there for me through a lot. I mean, it was high school. Middle school was worse, because I had even less confidence than I did in high school. Girls were really mean in middle school. They made me cry. But I think in high school I was mean to myself. I made myself cry. Sometimes I actually told myself I was worthless and that I wasn’t good enough. I hated myself for every pimple and every insecurity. But I’m a teenager. Who could blame me for experiencing that stuff?
You answered all the silly emails. Thanks. Looking back on it, I can’t believe some of the stuff that caused me to melt down. I remember one time I over plucked my eyebrows and I had, like, a mental breakdown, and I emailed you about it because I was freaking out. I’m sure you couldn’t help but to laugh at me sometimes. I don’t blame you. But seriously. I emailed you about that? And you still love me? Wow.
There was also that time when I was at Summer Scholars. It was cool, because we got to live in dorms for two weeks and it was like college. I had to figure out how to do my own laundry. Nobody would help me! But they all made fun of me. It was a bunch of guys. I’m hoping they were laughing not because I looked stupid, but because they thought it was cute that I couldn’t do my own laundry. I hope that’s why you laughed when I told you about it, too.
That was a writing clinic I went to. We had to write so much everyday. I loved it! I decided to make myself feel better about the washing machine experience by writing one of my fiction stories about a freshman in college who basically goes through what I went through with the washing machine. However, in her case a cute guy walks in and helps her. I shared it in class the next day, and all the other kids were like, “That’s totally unrealistic!” Whatever. A girl can dream, can’t she?
You were there when my parents were going through stuff, too. That was rough. They’d go into the garage and fight. I originally thought they were doing that so my brother and I wouldn’t hear, but now I think maybe my dad was following my mom outside to stop her from leaving. That happened every time they fought. It still happens. I don’t understand. I wish I knew why my mom was so willing to just leave every time they had a fight.
You were there through all the depression, too. I’ve had a really difficult time over the past few years. It was more than just angst. I didn’t want to believe you at first, and I still am not sure if I do. Angst sucks so much. Maybe it’s almost the same thing as depression, or maybe it’s not. My other friends were angsty, but they weren’t miserable like I was. I’m glad you got me to go to therapy. I actually enjoy talking about what’s on my mind without my mother’s disapproval and concern coming into play. I also do have a chemical imbalance. The meds help a lot.
Sometimes I wonder what’s going on with you, too. I’m afraid you feel like you shouldn’t confide in me because you think you have to be strong for me, but I don’t want you to. I want to be there for you, too. We both have stuff on our chests. We both like to talk, but we’re also able to listen to each other.
The world can be scary. It doesn’t take three years at college to realize that, Core. I’ve noticed, too. The world can be plainly cold to those who need warmth the most. I don’t understand it sometimes. People spit at the homeless people on the street. They put the mentally ill in hospitals and leave them there. People fight over everything possible. Why can’t we all just love each other? Wouldn’t it be better and more productive to live in a world of love than in a world of hate?
We all have bad days, Corey. At least I do. Sometimes I lay down in my bed during the day because I’m sad, and I just lay there curled up in a ball for almost an hour. That’s what happens when I don’t take my medication. I’m a Christian, but sometimes I wonder why God would create me to be imperfect to the point where it makes me unhappy. I’m doing much better now that I’m getting help, but I still feel scared, vulnerable, and hopeless. What if I relapse? When I relapse, I feel like there’s no point in living. I feel so alone.
I’m scared to go to college. What if I can’t handle the pressures of college on top of my Generalized Anxiety Disorder and Depression? I won’t have my parents there to tell me it’ll be ok. Then again, I feel ashamed and sad to tell them that their daughter experiences these things, so I can’t really talk about it now, either.
One time my friend, Kelly, was trying to cheer me up because I felt lonely. She told me that when you take someone else’s hand, they take yours, too. I guess I wrote you this letter to tell you that, well, you have me, too. Let me be there for you. You’re my best friend, my big sister.





Love you,





Kat