To all of my friends; old and new, near and far, loved and lost, 

I’m writing to you because I feel there is something I need to get off my chest. You are likely well aware of the issues I’ve faced in my past and the difficult journey I have been on to try and resolve them. I know I like to joke about things and I always put on a brave face, or at least try to, but the time has come for me to be honest with you, for better or for worse. 

I have been lying to you. A lot of the behaviour I’ve engaged in over the past decade or so has, essentially, been an attempt to fit in. This is probably obvious to you, but I would suggest it perhaps runs a bit deeper than you’d imagined. For as long as I can remember, I have observed the behaviour of those I wish to befriend and immediately reflected it back to them. The reason I was so popular throughout school was because I intuitively saw through people, saw through their strengths and their weaknesses, their vulnerabilities and insecurities, and I used this to create personalities that appealed to them, complimenting their strengths and helping them to hide the parts of themselves they didn’t like. I have most likely done this to you too. 

I used to think I was a psychopath, that I didn’t actually exist as a person, that there was no such thing as Harry Tomlinson, and that all I had was the persona I had created for myself, desperately trying to cling to others in order to avoid the feeling of overwhelming loneliness that would envelop and consume me whenever I was left in my own company. It was easier and safer for me to create a version of myself that I knew would appeal to people rather than present myself as I was and risk their rejection.

I would assert my emotionlessness, when in reality I was desperate to find emotional connection with people. I would be mean to the people I wanted to be friends with because that’s how I expected them to treat me. I would turn everything and everyone into one big joke, because I believed people would be laughing at me whatever I did, so at least if I owned the narrative it would allow me some sense of control, even if the jokes were often at my own expense. I would drink and smoke and do drugs because it was an easy way to make friends and it allowed me to escape from the darkness that had captivated my mind for a few hours. I would manipulate people, gaslight friends and cause endless arguments, because I didn’t know how to communicate the fact that I was lonely and scared that people would leave. I would act like I deserved the world, like I was the living embodiment of perfection, because deep down I despised myself so much that I wished I were dead.

When I look back now, it is heartbreaking to think how long I spent wishing my life would end. Although I took no care of myself, and have doubtless done irreversible damage to my health, I don’t think I ever actually actively contemplated suicide. Instead, I just spent fifteen years wishing I didn’t exist. I don’t say this to excuse my actions or justify my behaviour, because I would never even attempt to do so, but I do hope it offers some form of explanation as to the predicament I found myself in for so much of my life.

I spent so many years putting on an act to fit in that it has taken me several years just to figure out who I really am. Not all of it was false, and there are aspects of my persona that definitely were the real me, but a lot of it was exaggerated. It is cliché and awfully banal, but I’ve realised I’d rather be those things than continue to be something I am not. In reality, I am quite a vulnerable young man. I have serious issues with my self-image and self-esteem, and I have severe attachment issues stemming from childhood trauma around my relationship with my Father. A lot of emotions are genuinely incomprehensible to me, and I struggle to empathise with people, which can make me seem distant and cold-hearted, which is incredibly isolating. I spend a lot of my time wondering what it would be like if I had friends that really understood me, friends that knew what I was really like, but the desire to avoid rejection has always overpowered any desire I had to take off the mask. 

I’m sure you will already know most of this, but I hope it is at least refreshing to hear me admit it. The man I am today and the man I was ten, five, or even two years ago are, quite frankly, completely different people. I have no doubt that I will have done things to hurt you over the years, and for that, I am genuinely sorry. I’ve done my best over the past few years to reconcile any differences I have with the people I care about, but if you feel I haven’t managed this with you, please reach out. It is really important to me not only to make amends for my wrongdoings, but also to talk about them openly so I can learn from them and continue to grow as a person. 

Moving forward, things are going to change. I know that the person that I am becoming is not the person many of you made friends with to begin with, and I know that he likely won’t be someone you wish to continue being friends with, and I understand that. It’s sad to look back at years of friendship and realise that things could change, but that is part of life, and I think it’s important to be grateful for the memories, the lessons we’ve learned from each other, and the good times, rather than dwell on an uncertain future. Besides, change doesn’t have to be negative. If you let me, I would like to introduce you properly to the real me and offer you the hand of friendship anew. I’d like to be honest with you about the things I do and don’t enjoy and the things I do and don’t understand. 

It is a genuinely bizarre sensation to actually feel happy. I still have my off days, but by and large I am so excited to be here that I often find myself smiling at random points throughout the day. I have finally found a job that I actually enjoy and gotten myself into a routine with healthy, rewarding habits that make me feel good. I am back in therapy, continuing to work on myself, and I have even begun saving for a house deposit. There is still plenty about myself that I need to improve, but I think I am at the point where I am comfortable enough with who I am to take off the mask and hope that you don’t shriek in horror. 

There is a lot more I could say, and plenty more jokes I’d like to make, but I don’t want to go on too long or dilute the meaning of this letter. I understand that this might be confusing or upsetting, so please don’t feel obliged to respond to it. However, if you do want to discuss this further, I would be happy to. 

Whatever happens, thank you for being part of my journey so far, and whether I end up being a part of it or not, I hope your future is everything you want it to be. 

Yours 

Harold