Dear Mr. Dirty Feet,
This is for you.
There once was a boy named Mr. Dirty Feet. He was a precocious child. Extremely bright and sharp as a tack, he would endlessly research topics that fascinated him until he could spout facts and statistics as if he were an expert in the field. Now, Mr. Dirty Feet did not grow up in the most stable of homes, but he had parents that loved him and was given every opportunity to prosper.
But he struggled.
He had demons he was unable to lay to rest.
As an adult, he began to self-medicate as a way to quiet the demons. It provided him a moment of solace. It gave him comfort. Here he found a way to escape the demons. And he knew what he was doing. He researched the effects that it has on your mind and body. He thought he could handle it. He thought he would be strong enough to walk away from the substances that quieted the demons.
For years he self-medicated. He recognized when his mind began to produce paranoid delusions and delusions of grandeur. He understood the side effects and psychological coping mechanisms that were playing out in his mind. He observed it, researched it, and eventually tried to stop using the drug which had “helped” him navigate the emotional turmoil in his life.
But he couldn’t. He struggled.
Slowly but surely, he began to massively self-destruct. His work life and love life and health all fell victim.
And now he has vanished into the night, leaving behind a trail of broken hearts and unsettled minds. For they all remember the loving boy. How brilliant his mind was. How caring he could be. How spectacular he sparkled when he allowed himself to shine.
And they want him to come home.
They want to help him.
They want him to accept the outstretched arms. They want him to know that it isn’t weak to accept help – it is perhaps the greatest gift you can give yourself, to let others truly care for you, when you cannot care for yourself.
Come home, Mr. Dirty Feet. Come home.
Miss Erin Terese