So…without further ado

fuck you

Daphne.

Whatever your story is, you weren’t the good guy.

And hey: whoever does read this, if it’s Detective McGowan or Principal Taylor, or anybody else: please check on my mom and dad. And please tell them to talk about Daphne. Really. Freely. Make sure they understand the things we’re told not to talk about are the things that get real bad. Those subjects get sick. And they get confused. And nobody can make sense of them because they were never allowed to talk them out.

You know?

Tell Mom and Dad I love them too.

Please.

And now, Jolly, a thought:

I swiped this Sharpie from Hi-Fi on my walk out here. Yep. Walked right into the store, went to an unmanned register, reached behind the counter, and took it. Was it because I knew I’d come here to write you? Yes and no. I knew I had to talk to you, one more time. But I didn’t know where. Then, I started thinking about that shot, right? The free throw that started it all. I thought about winning that game and how sometimes winning is an illusion because it’s the fantasy of winning that counts. It’s what excites you, what you think you are capable of, THAT’S what matters most.

Do you hear her? Can you see her? Can you smell her yet?

She’s coming. Oh yeah. She’s on her way.

Wanna know why I’d recognize Daphne anywhere, Jolly?

Because she’s me.

No, not like that. Let me explain.

I’ve come to realize something pretty dark in all that’s gone on. Something that’s taken me too long to admit. I’ve written about anxiety (regular size now, see?), written endlessly about what it’s done to me and how badly I’ve wanted to get out from under it. But the thing is, now that it’s here? Now that it’s here in its worst form? Death on the front porch?

Turns out I want it.

That’s right. Turns out I want to feel this way. It’s me, after all, isn’t it? This panic, these free-floating fears, this horror? All me, Jolly. I can’t stop thinking about Daphne any more than I can stop writing about anxiety.

Know what? Watch me now. Let’s just go for it:

ANXIETY

See? Doesn’t that feel good? Sure does. Because that’s me and I don’t know who I’d be without it. And guess what? I kinda like me. That’s right. I kinda like the person I am, the woman I’ve become. I’ve gone from a pipsqueak freshman who couldn’t keep her head up in the halls to being the team’s second leading scorer in what feels like a blink. It used to be I didn’t raise my hand in class and now I’m the first one up because I want to know the answers to my questions. I want to learn. And that constant hum, that engine inside me…well, shit, Jolly. A lot of that is fear, anxiety, guilt. And if those are what propel me…