It's hard for me to start this letter, as unfortunately none of the things I have to say have been kind enough to form a structured queue in my head, so I haven't a clue where to begin. The idea of writing you a letter has occurred to me more and more often lately, which led me to finally getting my act together and actually sitting down to execute my otherwise illusory plans.

I must apologise beforehand for perhaps interfering with your current course of life and for possible effects my letter might have on you, I am sorry.

There is one particular reason why I find it necessary, or at least fair, to contact you. I have always had the impression there was something you should have known, or something I should have explained to you, but I could never figure out what exactly it was. So now that I do know, and have known for quite a while, I'm convinced it should be part of your knowledge too. I do not have any specific intentions concerning the sequel of my writing you, nor do I hope to gain anything in particular by it. Save justice, I suppose.

You must have been aware of the fact that I hardly ever, if ever at all, took any initiative (especially) on intimate grounds. I think I remember noticing or being made alert of your merited exasperation about that, but it might just be my imagination now. I usually avoided thinking about my lack of bestowal, but whenever I did try to reason I easily gave up, there not being any obvious cause or solution. I wasn't conscious of the fact that I could have, or should have, rather, talked to you about it; I didn't think it anything serious. But now I look back I see how unfair it really was on you and how it must have left you in bemusement. I find it only righteous to clarify it now that I've figured it out for myself.

(Please don't be shocked.) When I was twelve I was more or less 'sexually abused' by someone fifteen years older than I. It sounds much worse than it practically was: I, at the time, didn't think much of it at all. I was under the assumption that it was okay. Not because those words were pressed on me by him, but because I truly loved him, and he did me. I didn't mind him touching me, clinging to the theory that it didn't affect me in any way (it didn't pleasure nor did it bother me), so therefore it didn't matter.

But in the long run it did matter, it seems. I've found out that what I did constantly during all the sexual harassments was train myself to do nothing. I purposely didn't react to anything he did, and forced myself to keep my hands to myself, so I wouldn't encourage him even more. And that attitude affixed itself to me ever since I got the hang of it. It wasn't until a year or two ago that I realised what had caused my inability to show affection -- I'd trained myself successfully to keep my hands behind my back at all times.

I'm not offering this as an excuse for my behaviour, and I'm not asking for your sympathy or pity: it's merely an explanation for something that has pestered at least me. I wanted to share it with you to perhaps set it somewhat straight, and I am truly sorry if it had nothing but negative effects on you. I do not mean to hurt or vex you, I would never mean to do that. I hope in fact that it can be 'of use' to you in some way... I also apologise for the tone of my letter. I have no idea how you will interpret this, and I know I unconsciously make my letters seem despising or disdainful sometimes. As long as you know I have no bad intentions.

I hope this letter reaches you someday soon, I'll send it to your parents' address as I haven't a clue of your whereabouts. I'll leave it up to you what to do, whether to reply or even consider my letter at all, or not. I think of you a lot, I still have the fluorescent star up in my room and I probably shouldn't have said either of those things, I don't know. Nevertheless it would be nice to hear from you again, and I hope you're well, and happy.

Lots of love,
[my name]

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I feel so