Let me say two things. One: I miss you and I love you very much. Two: I'm very worried about you.

You've changed so much in the past year or so. I think it's been almost 6 months since you've spent an entire day sober. That's too long, Casey. What are you trying to block out by hiding behind a stoned/drunken stupor? I'd listen if you'd tell me. You try to hide behind this big "tough" front, and it kills me, because I know that in there somewhere is the goofy, sweet guy that was my superclose friend. You know, the one who got yelled at with me by that stupid guy in the burger place for laughing too loud. The one who used to see little kids (especially little girls) and plot ways to stick them in your pocket and take them home because they were so cute and you wanted one. The one who used to spend hours on the phone with me, talking about nothing and everything.

You told me once that if there was any one person in this world you could marry, it would be me. You wanted me to go out with you so bad, and I turned you down each time because I'd seen how you treated other girls you were with, and I didn't want any part of that. Then, one day, I caved. I told you that I'd give it a shot. Then a week later, I broke it off. And two weeks later I was with your friend, who later broke MY heart (ironic, isn't it?). I'll admit it now: I was heartless in doing that to you. I got your hopes up, and smashed them into little bitty pieces.

If I had one wish, it would be that I had never done that to you, that I had just stayed as someone you admired. Our friendship was never the same after that; as a matter of fact, there was a period in time where we couldn't have a conversation at all without fighting. We stopped talking for a while. You gave me your knife and a letter that said that if you didn't feel comfortable at my house by my 17th birthday, you wanted me to keep it forever, because that knife was the only thing that convinced you to cut yourself. I'm 18 now. You haven't been to my house yet.

Soon after that you started smoking pot and drinking every weekend. Not too long after that, you started dealing. This past summer, you were arrested for possession. It didn't seem to phase you. Let me just say it again: I'm worried about you. I'm afraid that you're going to end up dead or in jail before you're 20. I'm afraid that you're going to ruin your life permanently. I know I've told you, and I don't know how much you listen. Probably not much at all. You've always been stubborn. You told J. the other day that being high didn't do anything for you anymore. That scares me so much, Casey. What are you going to do next? Move onto bigger and more life-threatening things?

I know you won't listen to me, but I can hope that some of it finds it's mark. I care about you too much to watch you go into this downward spiral. Please. Sober up, before you wake up one day and realize that you've wasted your whole life being wasted. Sober up.

I miss you. I love you. I'm here for you.

Talk to me.

--Me