Unsent Letters: I Hate You

This is part of a series of posts titled "Unsent Letters." I have written letters that I don't intend to send as long as I can remember as a coping mechanism. As a child, I wrote letters to God, to my parents, to my teachers. Sometimes, I don't send them because they are for my eyes only, containing my most deeply held secrets. Sometimes, I don't send them because I'm afraid they might hurt the named recipient. Other times, I don't send them because I'm lazy, or because I don't want to buy postage, or because I forget. This series is an ode to the letters I'll never send. See the full series here.

Dear woman,

I have no reason to hate you, but I do. I hate you because of what we share. I hate you because I know you are beautiful, intelligent, hard-working, funky. I hate you because you are who I wish I was. I hate you because I know I can never be you, no matter how hard I try. And I hate you because I feel like I have to try to be you.

I don't know how to make my hair curly like yours. I don't know how to make my lips lush like yours. I don't know how to make my eyeliner come to a perfect point like you do yours. I don't know how to get away with a perfectly pierced nose like yours. I don't know how to take cute selfies like yours. I don't know how to be so effortlessly sexy like you.

Worst of all, I don't know how to stop obsessing over you. I try, but I can't. I can't stop looking at your Instagram, finding my stomach gurgling with envy and frustration every time.

I hate that you had what I want and you let it go. You had my future, and you cast it aside. Now it's mine, but I can't seem to hold onto it tight enough. I feel my grip wearing down. It's slipping from my fingers. You willingly let it go, and here I am putting all of my energy into holding it tight and I'm still losing it.

I can't stand this, but I can't let go.

I hate you.

Lindsie