22 years ago I wrote a letter to my high school crush, where I simultaneously confessed my love and threw my soul under a bus with false suggestions of stalking her. I lied to myself by believing she read it, instead of believing the school counselor, who said a teacher found it and turned it in. That letter is the worst thing I've done to anyone. I wanted to scare her because that was the only way I knew how to get her to remember me. It was selfish, unkind, and something I've always regretted. I needed to believe she read it in order to move on from her and that place. Being in that school sucked the life out of me. I was invisible, a ghost, and still feel like one when I think about it. The letter was a cry for recognition, as twisted and psychotic as it sounds.
Today I am more inclined to believe what the counselor said, that she never read it. There's no evidence that she ever did, not from her, her parents, or anyone at that school. Her online behavior suggests she is not worried about stalkers either. Most importantly, the school does not have a report about the incident on file. I asked the current counselor, who said there was nothing. You'd think it would have definitely informed her and kept an incident report on file if it thought I would harm her. It is amazing the lies we tell ourselves to alter reality, making the things we want come true despite all evidence against it. It's not unlike the MAGA crowd and their blind disregard for facts, choosing only to believe things they want.
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