Your man of “Superior Intellect” – 41 (nw san antonio)
If this letter means anything to you let me know.
Not Enough Said
I have something left to say, so I am compelled to write this. You once ask me “what have I done for you this year”(or something like that). I never answered the question. The truth is that you provided a few moments that changed me and left me with a feeling of being connected with you that I can’t explain. Life is just a collection of moments, some of which never leave us. Here are just a few moments that will not leave me.
You once said to me, “I am so lonely”. These words shook me to the core and it took me some time to figure out why. It seems that for a long time, I felt alone. It was at that moment that I felt some connection with you. I don’t know why you felt you could open up to me the way you did. It didn’t make much sense. I know you were going through a rough time and you needed someone to talk to, but Why me? Why trust me with all your personal matters? There must have been a reason you felt you could do that.
Another time, you came to my room really upset in tears. This caught me completely off guard. I had no idea how to react. It took every ounce of my professionalism to stop myself from putting my arms around you. I think in the back of mind I new I had feelings for you and I didn’t know what to do. It was at this moment that something left me. All of sudden, I was reminded that I was human and vulnerable to having feelings that I could not control. It was at this moment that I lost control. Every day after that has become a constant battle to deal with these feelings. A feeling that just will not be ignored.
Another moment occurred even before we ever met. It has taken me a while to put it together from what you told me about where you lived (Silver Rock Apt.) and the car you had at that time. One day you were driving on Camino Valle (the street that runs in front of the apartments) in your blue Cavalier and I was driving behind you. At the time, I didn’t know you. I never saw your face, but I know it was you. You were driving in an erratic way (driving very slow coming to a stop in front of the apartments) which caught my attention, but it was more than that. I felt something I can’t explain. You were sitting in the car with your head down (Do you remember this?). I could tell that you were completely devastated and something terrible must have happen (a life changing moment.). I drove around you and kept going, but I remember feeling that something had happen and I was supposed to do something. This made no sense to me because I didn’t know you, and only recently was I able to connect this moment to you. I realize how this sounds and there is no explanation why I remember this.
I have been a real creep, jerk, ass and several other colorful descriptives. I believe I have been compelled in my actions in part because of a spiritual motivation and partly because I have had something to say, but I could not find the words. That night I came over with the bottle of wine, I actually did not know what I wanted to tell you. I just knew I was supposed to that with no agenda. I now know what has been on my mind to say.
First, You have never really been alone. Every lonely feeling you ever had, I have felt it with you. Although your belief in GOD is wavering, I know that he believes in you and so do I. You may not know who you are, but I do. I have looked into your eyes and I have seen the scares and open wounds left neglected. I know you think your father left you along time ago, but he has been with you all along. Look closely in the mirror and you will see him. I know that you struggle with the shallow meaningless level of existence you have chosen because of its simplicity. I know that your complexity comes from your struggle with the search for meaning in a life that seems meaningless. I know that you are a Writer. A writer who is disparately in need of inspiration and courage. You once asked me why I was laughing when you said you didn’t think a co-worker liked YOU. I was laughing at the irony of the fact that you are concerned about people liking you when you don’t even know who YOU are. Your over reactions and over willingness to become DISGUSSTED with people comes from your own self-loathing and compensation for lack of self-definition. After all, how can you like yourself if you don’t know who YOU are and how do know what YOU really like about other people if you’re still searching for what you like about yourself. I know you are ashamed of something. Something that haunts you and you don’t know how to deal with it. I know you live in fear. Fear that has kept you from really living. You once ask me if I was afraid of dying. My answer was incomplete. I am not afraid of dying. I am afraid of dying knowing I never really lived, never really loved, never saying what I wanted to say.
I think I’m going to have to let him know that this letter means something to me… It means a lot, actually. Of all the steps you have to take to create a post on Craigslist, THIS is the kind of thing you end up posting?
The reason she “opened up” to you was because she was lonely and she suspected that you were lonely and she was kinda sorta hoping maybe you guys could Fuck The Pain Away. But instead, you mentally jerked yourself off thinking she was trying to connect with you. Douche.
Ohh, okay… Now I see… You were her doctor/teacher/boss and she wanted to fuck you — that’s why she showed up in tears (likely with freshly shaven leggs and vajayjay) TRYING TO FUCK YOU AGAIN. I want to know HOW you lost control, though…
The paragraph about how you saw her in her car BEFORE YOU MET HER — this paragraph makes you a crazy person… Unless you’re really Ms Cleo.
By the way, whatever happened to Ms Cleo? Maybe she went to “How To Fake A GOOD Accent” School. Anyway, back to this nutjob.
“I believe I have been compelled in my actions in part because of a spiritual motivation and partly because I have had something to say, but I could not find the words. That night I came over with the bottle of wine, I actually did not know what I wanted to tell you. I just knew I was supposed to that with no agenda. I now know what has been on my mind to say.”
Um… So, GOD told you to show up at her house after the Pussy-Is-Yours Window had closed with a bottle of wine hoping to get your dick wet. I think that’s a pretty clear agenda. You didn’t even bring cheese, jackass. You just wanted to get this poor girl drunk.
“I am not afraid of dying. I am afraid of dying knowing I never really lived, never really loved, never saying what I wanted to say.”
So what you’re saying then is that you actually ARE afraid of dying because, let me break it down for you, Professor/Doctor/Bossman, typing out an anonymous letter on Craigslist isn’t “getting things off your chest,” it’s pathetic. And kind of creepy.
I’m off to Craigslist to write this dickface semi-stalker, can’t-make-a-move-to-save-his-life joker a letter. I hope he reads it.
