May 18, 1982

I was wrong about not being able to help being sensitive, only because you should not have to put up with it. I was just upset to begin with and also to begin with, I’m not too responsive to kidding, and also to begin with, I always rely on you to be good to me. I am really sorry if that puts any burden on you, I really am. I don’t mean to, but I can’t help myself. (I wish I could).

At the start of every day of my life at this time, I know there will be two people who will really be nice to me in the whole world. (And I hate to sound so pessimistic). Those people are you and Maria. I cannot really rely on my mother or my classmates. And on you I rely even more because you are older. I am sorry about that Mrs. Chasan but it’s the truth, at least for right now. I do need you understanding. If I am too difficult a person for you to understand, I don’t do it on purpose. I just am strange. I don’t see what I see in myself, too often in others. But anyway, this strange person that I am, looks up to you for a lot of things. And everything you say to me I take to heart – be it good or bad. I don’t know why.

You say that you understand me, maybe just a few things, but I really want you to understand me. It means a lot to me. Maybe you can’t figure out why I’m writing to you. I’m probably really confusing you. And this is totally ridiculous because I think I’m writing to you because this is a way to get your attention. You don’t know how sorry I am about that too. I think that poor Patricia really needs a lot of attention, and she’s chose you as her person that she hopes to get the attention she needs from. Poor Mrs. Chasan.

I think that it is so sad that a person could need attention so badly, but I’m going to a psychiatrist so at least we know I’m in the process of becoming normal and not so pitiful. Yes, one day soon, I hope to be out of the repair shop, but I don’t see that day coming soon.

Mrs. Chasan, you know why I’m writing to you? It’s because I’m upset. I walked out of the house tonight with all my books and I’m at the library now. I was hoping to find my friend Elaine here, but she isn’t here. That just upset me more. I know its just a little thing, but those little things can really blow me away sometimes.

You see, I wish you were here. I wish you were right here, right now, and I wish I was talking to you and you were making me feel better. So, instead I’m writing you. I doubt that that is quite normal. I really know that you’ll not always be around when I need you, but I want it desperately, and I can’t have it. I probably shouldn’t even be allowed to write to you. The way I feel now though, I couldn’t’ care less any more. I’m really depressed. I hate the end of school. No school makes me lonely, on top of that, in three weeks I won’t be seeing you five days a week- that I will have to get over, but I will miss you. Ellen’s little brother is having emergency surgery as soon as possible. I have to go to fucking court next week, and I have to study my math and science, and I hate that shit. I was not made to handle these things. As of the last few weeks, I am hating this world more and more. It’s scary. To someone who has still a whole wide future ahead of her, and doesn’t see much, better know that she needs help quickly. I don’t know why I have to deal with certain things, nor do I know how, nor do I want to, nor do I have the stamina. I’m tired! I would like to crawl up in a hole and die. I really would. And my problems are too complex and if I make them that way, then I wish I could stop myself. But I swear, black thoughts just enter my mind and I can’t get rid of them. The only way to get rid of them is to escape somehow, either by sleeping, or eating, but never can I do something constructive when this happens. That’s another problem of mine.

Oh well, I just think I’m going nuts. I think that I’m crazy, and I’m going off the deep end, and that I am mentally ill. I’ll be put away soon for my suicidal thoughts are really getting to me, and I refuse to live like that. If I wasn’t born to be happy then I should not continue to suffer like I am now. I am really miserable. I hate my life. And if they lock me away, that won’t solve anything, I’ll be so wild, they’ll have to pump me up with drugs, and then I’ll be alright because I will be totally UNAWARE. (Maybe that would be better).

I’ve been happy before, but just not recently and that is what is causing me to give up. I just don’t care. If you think I’m sick, I’ll just die, but I can’t see you thinking otherwise from my tone. This is the way I feel. If it is the truth that I have severe emotional problems, then it is and I can’t hide it. It will catch up with me sooner or later. I know now, then I would like to die now, because there is so much I will be missing because of my mental handicap.

This may make no sense to you. I could go on and on. These deep thoughts of mine just keep digging quite cruelly into my mind and I’m going crazy. I can’t control these ugly little creeping ideas. The more I think about how badly I think I have it, I just get more and more preoccupied with death. I don’t think I’ll have the courage to stick a knife through my heart, nor do I have the will power to starve myself to death, but if my emotions get stronger, like they seem to be getting, then I will surely die soon. (And I look forward to it).

The only reason why I think there is something wrong with me is because I don’t think contemplating suicide as seriously as I do is normal. I tell you all this Mrs. Chasan because I need to tell someone and you are the person I seek help from although you cannot help me on this. I will tell my psychiatrist all this. I’m just as afraid to tell my doctor as I am to tell you. My doctor may put me away and you may disassociate yourself with me. Believe me, I’ll put nothing on you. I’m too considerate to bother you any more than I may have with this letter.

I shall not cling to you if I see you pulling away from me. I can’t believe I’m writing to you anyway. If this letter disturbs you and you need someone’s help, I’m sure they will tell you to just get away from me. That is because nobody knows in this whole world that Patricia would never deliberately hurt anyone. I don’t believe I have it in me, although “there is within me a knot of cruelty born by the stream of love.”

And I also want to tell you how I could identify with Crane’s I Saw a Man. The man pursuing the horizon is out of touch with reality, but he’s determined to fight for sight of it until he drops down dead. With the persecution complex that I have, I will continue deliriously for the last weeks of my life, searching for everything beautiful, that will never be as I want it. Then I will exhaust myself, and that is how I will leave this world. When I go, people will just say I was a stupid girl who wasted a lot of time dreaming, as they do now and it is true.

So I’m lonely now that I write to you just as in Puerto Rico I was desperately lonely and wrote you a 19-page letter. There is something wrong in that – not the content, just the fact that I write to you.

When I go, I’m leaving you all my writings only in hope that you will better understand me and see that the only thing wrong with me is that I get depressed too too much. I am definitely a dreamer, maybe I think you care just a little about me, and you really don’t. Then you may discard my papers at your leisure. I will be dead, but I promise not to come back and haunt you.

But if it means anything to your life, you had at least one student for sure that was utterly fond of you. If you died, I would cry so hard. I’d be crushed and inconsolable, because I love you like a sister, care about you and would miss you very much. (And I’d be upset too, about all the attention I’d be missing from you).

So anyway Mrs. Chasan, I realize how selfish this was of me, but I don’t understand this either. I am sorry about this. You must know, that is all. I’ve probably really messed things ups now but I wish I were a better friend of yours in my time. I was a sick student-friend, and now I’ve lowered myself to the position of a sick person who may just pass you in the halls. (I really don’t want it that way). But before I go, I’ll take this opportunity to apologize for everything bad I’ve ever done to you, and for all the things I would have like to do for you, but never did.

I want you to have the best in life and the most beautiful children,

Very sincerely yours.