In trying to make writing to you on my new iPad work, I think I’ve logged into Mom’s original account again. Perhaps that will help out? I’m writing on it right now, fingers crossed that it works.
I learned at a work party a few days ago that two people there have read my letters to you. I thought nobody did. I won’t name them for privacy, but I have hardly spoken to either of them, so they were not friends who might have done it because they knew me well. Isn’t that amazing? People usually don’t like to hear about it. It’s been like they feel contempt or just uncomfortable. If either of you are here, hi, I’ve never felt so hopeful about coworkers knowing about my deepest traumas. One of them asked me what I want people to do knowing about you. I couldn’t answer. Bothering you or Mom would be a terrible idea. But ignoring you does nothing at all. I really don’t know, but I guess here that only people in Eugene who already know you can help by just being there. Watching out that you’re alright without being weird. But you might think that’s stalkerish. If it helps, nobody tells us what you’re up to. Or what Mom says about us. Or anything at all.
In other affairs, how are you this week? Is it terribly hot down there? It is up here, I hope you’re well. Aaron got the plague again, and Mom probably has it, so I’ll probably get it too. I’ve mostly just been trying to survive the depressive episode oscillations. I’ve been doing more drawing and writing lately, knock on wood. A friend recommended that I read a Warrior Cats book to help get back into reading, and I (already having 938392848392 of those books) read a scene in one that caused an intense, hurtful flashback to the sights and atmosphere of the summer of 2016, and it hurt my heart so much I almost had to put the book down. I do not think it’s normal to long for childhood so so terribly, but I never felt well again. I wonder if you feel something similar?
Hoping again that this will send. I miss you. I hope you are happy and not overheating.
With love,
Alice