A HUSBAND'S LOST GRIEF

This is posted so it is not lost within the sands of time...

THE LOST LETTERS OF LINNY

The names have been changed... the story is the truth.  I am posting this and back dating it.... hiding it partially because it is private but also posting it so this part of my life is not lost. 

THE LOST LETTERS FROM Linny (name changed)

ONE

This e-mail is public at your blog and you have shared it with me prior to this, so I am not “stalking” you. So, please do not be angry. It’s my last resort, and this is my final message. Whether you choose to read it is up to you, but I’m going to send it anyway.  

You asked for the truth. I was paech. I had other names (rainbow, kardashianfan, telladiscostory, lafawnduh, holidaychcolate). There it is. I should have been honest from the start. Regrets 101. You and I have different views on this. Bottom line: I AM SORRY. I was wrong. I accept full responsibility for all of it. No excuses. I’m not asking for anything in return. You deserve to know the truth. 

You have no idea how terrible I feel on the inside. I would not be practically sobbing if I was the deceptive “catfish” you think I am. And, I don’t blame you. I know it doesn’t change anything, but I’m sorry. I can’t say that enough. If you choose to believe anything, believe that. Now that you know the truth, I guess you can block me here as well. But, there it is. Now you know, and I will now leave you alone. 

Best regards,

L

 END

TWO

There are two messages enclosed in this e-mail. The one below this one is my reply to your first message, which I could not reply to. 

 

I am not throwing myself a pity party, but I want you to understand how disgusted I am with MYSELF. Some of what you have said to me and about me is hurtful, but it’s the truth I need to hear.

 

I feel absolutely gutted. I’m heartbroken & I can physically feel the impact of it all. During certain moments of my grief sessions, I swore my ribs would crack. I HATE that I did this to YOU, not that I got caught. I wasn’t “caught” because I revealed it myself. I almost hate myself for it. Since this unraveled, I have cried so much I made myself physically ill. Today is Monday, and I missed school because I woke up feeling like absolute trash. I couldn’t stomach the thought of having to get out of bed and pretend that there isn’t a giant chip on my shoulder. 

 

I ghosted your show for a few minutes, and to me, it seems like it’s fun and games to you. “Pick your rant.” You LOVE that you have content. That’s all your care about. 

 

I am willing to come in & listen or answer any questions that you have. Or, I’m willing to cam up for YOU so that you can have the closure that you desire. 

 

BUT.... 

 

I’m going back and forth between feeling gutted & preparing to beg for your forgiveness and feeling angry that this is how you’re treating the situation. You want me to sign in so you can vilify in front of everyone. For views???? For content???? I WILL NOT be used for content. If you are SERIOUS about this, I will come in.

 

We met! I adored you! You know how I feel about you. And, you have reduced me to nothing and are enjoying that you have content for your show. I can’t even put into words how furious and upset that make me at the same time. You can walk away like nothing. I CAN’T. Yes, that is a major difference between you and I. I am not as strong and resilient as you are.

 

Are you reading my messages to these people in your show?! God, Yetta, I expected more from you. And, I know that sounds rich and probably appalling coming from me considering… but, I can’t… I can’t even put it into words.

 

The next message I wrote on Sunday.

________________________________________________________________________________________

Yetta,

 

My cursor has been hovering over the send button. I want to leave you alone as you have asked of me. But, a fraction of me cannot bare your newly formed perception of me, which you have every right to feel. A fraction of me denies the rest. 

 

My spirits are shattered, and I am undeniably despondent. For the first two days, I made myself physically ill. I am consumed with the burden of guilt and anguish. Not because I “was caught,” but because I am incredibly disappointed in myself. I HATE that I did this to YOU. YOU. YOUR disappointment in me stings the most. And, I hate that any part of me could conjure up such foolishness for an extended period of time. Then, I tried to justify it. No part of it is justifiable. I’m utterly disgusted. Even worse, you don’t believe a word I say so you may render all of this meaningless. However, this is my problem, not anyone else’s, and I am not seeking pity.

 

My ticket to Carousel was delivered  the other day. Not knowing what was enclosed, I opened the plainly cloaked piece of mail addressed to me from New York City. Upon seeing the ticket, I was hit with a tidal wave of pure sadness because it was a reminder of what I lost and threw away. I immediately sprung into action to cancel all reservations that I had made in excitement. A small piece of myself was chipped away that day. 

 

I will not attempt to change your perception of me. In regard to my “behavior,” I wish I could tell you why I did what I did. I don’t have an answer. Not for me, and not for you. I doubt that there is one big reason. But once it began and I fell deeper and deeper into the rabbit hole, I felt it increasingly difficult to dig myself out of the pit of deception. In a way, I felt I could not fully be “Linny” I created side accounts - caricatures of my extended self that imploded and unraveled. There are many times when I yearned to tell you - to come clean and put an end to it all. What seemed like me playing dubious games was hesitation because I am a coward. And, there was hesitation because I sensed that I was in the wrong. I have spent countless hours analyzing myself. The guilt has always haunted me. In a multitude of ways, I am relieved that the charades are over. Unfortunately, it has come at a big cost. The sun will sink to undo it. 

 

When I sat across from you at Le Pain, I felt a slight pang of guilt. In a way, I think you were aware even then but chose to dismiss it – almost as if there existed a mutually unspoken pact to render it invisible. Even so, I have always cherished that rainy day on the corner of 7th. I took with me, that day, a small piece of you wrapped in endearment. I tied a ribbon around it for safekeeping. I didn’t deserve to sit across from you - not then & not now. In retrospect, I don’t deserve a second of your time, so I want to thank you for taking the time to reply. I awaited this e-mail like a kenneled dog jumping against its fence. Only now can I begin to move on. But, please do not make me go through life wishing I had resolved things with you like you wish you had done with your friend Sue. I need to know that you can at least forgive me. I need to know that you don’t harbor an intense dislike for me. And, if it is so, then I deserve it.

 

Under trivialities, I amused myself like a child. This is the consequence that I have been dreading. This impending doom was inevitable because the truth is always revealed. I am vulnerable and exposed to a monster of realism. A lot has been brought to light, and I am working to resolve myself. 

 

Quite honestly, I am disappointed that you chose to share with everyone what I revealed to you in confidence. Disappointment is a two-way street. While I understand that you have lost all respect for me, a part of me hoped that you’d still possess enough respect (or something) for me to not discuss our private matter in your show. That is something I would NEVER do to you despite what you may think. It’s done, and I don’t care that they have been made aware. But, I am hurt that you could not wait to discuss it. I’m not sure what has been said, but I know the word “catfish” was used in some sense because I saw somebody mention it in another room. In the end, I hold nothing against you. 

 

My admiration for you is untouched by this mess that I have created. That has always been real. Not one word of it was fabricated or exaggerated, especially not for my own amusement. You hold a promise of magnetic brilliance and wonder that only a connoisseur could detect. I have always been bound by my idea of you. And, it weighs on me. And, I would like to say that this will always remain true & that I will always keep a place for you, but it is too upsetting to hold sacred. (And, yes, I was writing something for you. What will become of those half-penned strings of sentences I don’t know.) 

 

My perverse actions are not at all representative of who I am. In our limited form of communication, it is now all you know of me. I have become an incongruent figure clouded by doubt. I hope that if you ever think of me, part of you holds onto your memory of the young woman you once liked and respected. And, I hope that if I ever think of you, I will remember a dazzling woman who touched and molded my life in more ways than she could ever imagine. You sparked an implacable madness within me, a new renaissance. With time, you will adjust and forget, and I will bury my giant defeat. I will bury my memory of you in a scrapbook full of forgotten photographs - a snapshot lost somewhere in time, gone with the wind. The process won’t be easy, but, as it is, you are an illusion I cannot bare to live with. 

 

Muddled somewhere in your mind underneath the muck and mire is the girl you thought you once knew. Hold onto her, for she is a delicate apparition. 

 

This grandiose fun fair has come to an appalling halt. I am a trapeze artist suspended in her own reality. And as the stage props are suddenly revealed, I must exit stage left. I will quietly make my exit through the backdoor, avoiding the crowd that has formed to glimpse that which has yet to be revealed. I am a tourist at my own attraction – on the outside looking in.  

 

In some summing up of my life, your impact has been enormous. A simple thank you does not suffice, but it’s all I can give you. Someday I will become whole again. And, I will regain a sense of who I really am (the fragments of myself that have been lost in my own chaos), and I will emerge a new woman brazen in the face of life. 

 

Until then... I wish you well. 

 

Love always, 

 

Lin

END

THREE

Dear Marjorie, 

(Page 1):

In a few hours, I will be on a plane headed back to Dallas. Although Texas is my home state, I will always feel a sense of belonging here in the city. Because somewhere beyond the chaos of it all, I feel that I am exactly where I'm supposed to be. Only time will tell if I, too, will one day be able to call New York home. 

I'm writing to you from a crowded Starbucks on the corner of Delancey St. and Orchard Street. Down the way, is a Duane Reade where I stopped to buy the supplies to write this letter. Both of these places are on opposite sides of The Tenement Museum where I spent part of my day. The moment I walk out of here, this location will become part of the "Linny history."

Outside, there are cars going every which way - strangers with a hundred different unknown destinations. Mine, eventually, being Texas. Everyone seems to be in such a hurry. That is one thing I've never understood about this city. People spill over onto the edge of the street to get a head start and cross before the pedestrian light flashes. Life rushes onward quickly enough on its own. Why rush the process? 

(page 2):

I am looking around and everyone is either on a laptop or a cellphone. I must seem out of place with my pen, paper and box of envelopes. I wonder what or who used to reside here before it was occupied by a coffee shop. Who used to pop in and out of this building? Who stood on this corner? Young school boys flirting with young women passing by, offering to carry their books - perhaps. Back before everyone had glowing screens shoved in their faces. 

Yesterday, I went to the High Line. As I stood on the corner by your building waiting for the light to change, my eyes welled up. I looked to the right, where your building stands, and then to the left one last time before crossing. To me, it was just any other street. The same cannot be said for you. I cried on my way to the the High Line and then some more as I walked along the path you suggested to me - down to 14th Street. Mid-way, I stopped for gelato and had two delicious scoops of coffee and vanilla flavored ice cream. I sat at a tiny, iron table listening to gorgeous live renditions of Beethoven while looking out at the beautiful view of the Hudson (at least I think it was the Hudson) and a partial view of the Manhattan skyline. A sliver of the moon pierced the sky like a permanent fixture. 

I used to think that I belong here as much as the moon belongs in the sky. But, to what or whom do we ever really belong to? There is no such thing in existence. I feel unsure. With each year that passes, my uncertainty grows. I was under the impression that the opposite is supposed to occur. In youth, I suppose we possess a certain sense of invincibility and romanticism. I feel the need to hold onto that.

(Page 3):

I thought: Not too long ago, I was in your lobby and now I am here. Before we know it, another three years will have passed. I could swear time is speeding up! I sat at the iron table contemplating something sad. I cannot being myself to repeat it, but I think you know what it is. I hate to be pessimistic. 

You asked me: "Do you STILL love Yetta?" And, I wondered why you chose to include the word "still," as if something could have changed my mind this week. All I could bring myself to say was "yes." Yes is the answer. 

Some day in the not too distant future, our roles will be reversed and I will be the one who can no longer keep up with the sea of young people passing by. They will look at me and wish that I'd walk faster, but hold their tongue because... what is one to do but keep on moving? And, even then, I will carry with me pieces of you that I have picked up along the way. Now, you can keep this piece of me with you.   

(Page 4:) 

I'm not certain of much these days, but one thing that I am sure of is that I fully believe I was supposed to meet you in some way. In short, you have touched my life in ways that I could not have even imagined before you came along. And, if I am lucky, we will reconnect in another lifetime. 

Thank you so much for making these past couple of days special. I will always cherish this week, and they don't know it... but, the nuts we met along the way will also always remain in my memories. 

In a way, you are my Dean Moriarty. A muse. A friend. 

"...I shambled after as I've been doing all my life after people who interest me, because the only people for me are the mad ones."

"So, in America when the sun goes down... I think of "Yetta Telebenda."

Until next time......

Love always,

Linny

END

FOUR

OK. 

I would like to start off by saying that I can obviously only speak for myself, based off of my own experience. I can't talk on his behalf. And, what applies to me may not apply to him. Also, I can only speculate. 

The difference between TripCode and I is that I was never insidious. I never weaved outrageous stories with a hidden agenda to (emotionally) manipulate you. I never involved other people (fake or not). I never built a fabricated life around a false persona who I claimed was me, including sending photos of different guys. However, I did do something similar as Paech (with that gif then linking you to Lafawnduh). When I'd come in as Paech or Lafawnduh, the room would enjoy it. Was I deceitful because I was not fully truthful about who I was? Yes. But, I never dedicated hours and years to being a "false persona." I didn't talk to you off of the site as that persona. My point being... his lies and deception were very layered. At VL, I created several names, but they were spaced out between several months and years. I'm not saying that makes it okay, but simply highlighting his extreme dedication. He was in your show day in and day out then interacted with you in private at other places on the internet. 

It wasn't until I created the Paech name that I started coming in on a regular basis as that persona because people thought "she" was funny. So, on one hand, it was "fun." Then there was the attention seeking aspect of it. I suppose it was just something to do. As bleak as that sounds, sometimes the answer is simple. I could have read a book. I could have watched a film or documentary. I could have gone on a date. But, the computer gives people easy access to do whatever we please or to be whoever we desire to be. In short, as you've said, it's a toy. And, it can bring out the worse in some people. I suppose that's really what it comes down to. 

I think TripCode is a person with many issues. Maybe he's anxiety-ridden. Maybe he has social anxiety. Maybe he doesn't leave his house much. You came along... he met you in Helton's. Maybe he thought you'd be an easy target and chose to pursue you as part of that weird Helton group. Maybe somewhere along the way he developed a liking for you and gradually became more attached. Maybe when you'd tell him to go away and leave you alone, he'd go into a frenzy and weave convoluted stories in an attempt to keep you in online interactions. Maybe, then, he developed an addiction to the activity. So, he continued until it unraveled. Maybe he thought you wouldn't accept him for who he is because he has low self-esteem. Then, maybe, the lies piled up and he was in too deep to come clean and tell the truth because he didn't want to "lose you." And, maybe since he's a homebody, you kept him entertained on a daily basis or fulfilled some kind of emptiness in his life. Waking up to your messages in the morning or receiving them throughout the day may have made him happy. BUT, you are NOT responsible for his mental health. 

I can't give you answers. I can say: "Maybe this and maybe that" or "if this, if that." But, there is really no sense in any of it because:

1. He is the only person who can provide you with answers because he is the only one who knows the full truth. 

2. You are trying to make sense out of something that DOES NOT make sense. 

I strongly believe that he owes it to you to man up and come back, especially if he "loved" or liked you as much as he claims he did. I very much doubt that he hates you or ever hated you. Who would dedicate that much of their own time to interacting with someone he/she dislikes? He seemed to genuinely like you and your show. When he'd rebroadcast you from the EarthCam, he'd seem excited and happy to do it. Unfortunately, I think he has serious issues. I'm not trying to be funny or even disrespectful, but I think he could be genuinely insane. 

I am at a completely different place in my life than I was a few months ago, and I can't imagine dedicating even a minute of my time to such nonsense. I can't believe I participated in the silliness. Meeting someone has, in a way, helped pull me out of a negative space. My time is filled with productivity. So, perhaps, TripCode has met someone. Maybe he has gotten married. If that's the case, good for him. I hope he finds happiness. Because when a person is unhappy or has too much time on their hands, I suppose there is no limit to what he/she will do. It manifests in different ways. Some people turn to drugs. Some people turn to catfishing - remember that video? Some people turn to suicide. There is no rhyme or reason. It's whatever fills the void. 

I think that sometimes the answer is simple. 

You may ask yourself: If a person likes another person, how can he/she do those things? 

I really have no clear answers. Crazy is crazy... is there really any sense in that?   

I feel terrible that you have the inability to stop thinking about happened during those four years. As I said, he OWES it to you. For your sake and for your health, I think you should really try to move on. However, I know that it's easier said than done.

Bottom line: He is a sick individual who I believe, even though you said you were a "willing participant," took advantage of your "weaknesses" that he learned how to exploit for his own twisted entertainment.

FIVE

1.

I had trouble trying to decipher some of his handwriting, but I was able to piece it all together. Gosh, what a time that must have been in both of their lives. And, you’re right... what remains of any of it? I’d love to read the rest of the letter if it’s not too much trouble. Have you ever contacted their son? 

I wonder where all these “orphan photos” and letters, etc. end up. I’d love to get my hands on them. Passionate love letters, homesick letters, dear John letters, letters about travel, letters that were written but never sent like in “Malena.” This stuff utterly fascinates me because no two lives are the same. No two love stories are the same. Just today, 7 billion people will have experienced this day in billions of different ways. Someone was born and someone died. Two people gazed into each other’s eyes for the first time... the beginning of a long love affair. Someone somewhere got caught in the rain. You are in NYC, and as your day begins, somewhere across the world, a person prepares for bed. One day, I will make something of all of this. The details DO matter. Or so I’d like to think....

2.

Maybe the “dummydicks” are better off. I think about this all the time. And, sometimes I wish I didn’t know any better, but then I’d be missing out on a lot. I consider myself lucky, and I can’t imagine going through life any other way. But, I make myself numb to it because... if I were to ever allow myself to fully FEEL everything, it would kill me. 

As you know, my grandmother passed away just last week. I’ll spare you the long-winded rant, but in short, it’s difficult for me to fathom how one moment we are here and the next we are simply not. And, that’s it... it’s ALL gone. I will never see her again. 

I bring this up because my mother brought me back some of her things to remember her by. She loved jewelry. What meaning she assigned to her belongings is now gone. The jewelry boxes are now just jewelry boxes. The set of gold earrings is now just a set of earrings - except for my newly assigned meaning. No longer are they the earrings that my grandfather gifted her one Christmas morning. Maybe, on that day, it snowed. Maybe it didn’t. I have no idea, and I will never really know. 

The photos that my parents sent over the years are now back in their possession. The first photo of my grandmother’s eldest son’s (my father) child, a daughter named Rachel born in 1982. Three years later, a photo of his first and only son. And, nine years after the birth of his son, photos of his third and youngest child - a daughter named Jasmine. Fast forward to 2018, what remains? 

And so it goes....... 

Anyway, I suppose you’re right and Woody Allen has a point. It’s best to not overthink. 

3.

OMG - look at that! I wish I could see what it says on the exterior, but it’s too blurry to make out. The facade of the building looks almost exactly the same as it did back in 1929. I am going to bookmark this site. Thank you. 

And, I do remember you talking about your past life as Estera Grinberg in your show. 

All so fascinating. So little time.....

END

SIX

Yesterday, I watched “Revolutionary Road.” Ever since I can remember, I’ve always been obsessed with the idea of a Mad Men-style suburbia: Housewives, philandering husbands, cocktail parties, “keeping up appearances,” forbidden affairs, rebellious teenagers, nuclear families, and stifled creativity. As a kid, I used to wonder what I’d be like as a wife, how many children I’d have, and where I’d settle down and with whom. Would I settle into a life that has been expected of me since before my own birth, or would I go against the grain and fulfill my version of their Parisian fantasy? 

In the film, April (Kate Winslet) and her husband, Frank (Leonardo DiCaprio), are seen as the “IT couple:” A young and “special” couple who are different than the rest (“the Wheelers!”). Always the Wheelers. Eventually, they buy into the same life-numbing notion and lose themselves in a collection of dismantled hope, shattered dreams and bygone youth. So, on Frank’s birthday, April makes a plan for a new life in Paris... she will work, Frank will find himself, and they will have a renounced sense of lust for life. Unfortunately for them, April’s unexpected pregnancy with a third child derails their plans and they fall deeper into the rabbit hole of despair and “keeping up appearances.” Eventually, April completely unwinds and can’t stand the sight of her own husband to the point where she literally screams if he comes near her. Spoiler alert: She ends up dying from complications of a self-administered home abortion. In the end, what can one conclude? Are we responsible for our own happiness? And, to what extent?

On Saturday night, I casted as Bambi. No dancing, no singing and no pretending that my hair brush is a microphone... just me in front of the computer with the occasional lip-syncing along to the words of random songs. Somewhere between the “singing” and a mediocre chat log, I was caught off guard and made to feel vulnerable. Because for one split second, a total stranger saw past my facade and into my forlorn soul. Someone said, “when I look at Lizzy, I see a sadness in her eyes.” And, if a stranger sees what I have neglected to see, what does that say about me? There is only one other person who has ever said those same words to me. That person is my mother. She looked me straight in the eyes and asked, “why is there a sadness in your eyes?” I didn’t have an answer then, and I don’t have an answer now. And, I haven’t forgotten how her question left me completely dumbstruck. 

I am a manic woman with an insatiable need to feel things, moments of euphoria to remind me that there is blood pumping through my veins. I am a neurotic woman with a reckless abandon for only the finest things in life. I DO NOT settle. I thought I knew who I was. With every day that passes, I’m not so sure. I thought I knew what I wanted. With every painfully delightful moment that shapes my life, I evolve and emerge a new woman with a fresh outlook & sense of assigned meanings and truths. So, when you ask me why I can’t do this or that, I can’t give you a legitimate answer. But, the truth is I am afraid. I am afraid to let myself be who I am. I’m afraid to live and love and allow myself to be loved in return. I am afraid to take chances. I am afraid of failure, of judgement, so I relent and give into my own fears and insecurities. If I don’t do this, xyz can’t happen. I can dream about it, but I’m afraid to sink my teeth into it. 

I have been thinking long and hard all day about this next thing that I have to say. And, I have been struggling with the idea of this for months. I am torn because I can’t handle the thought of ever having to say goodbye to you. It breaks my heart just typing this out. If you have ever understood and/or truly appreciated even a fraction of how much you mean to me and how much you have impacted my life in only wonderful ways, I am... well, there are no words. This past year I have talked to you more than I have with my own sister. She honestly has no clue whether or not I’m even alive. You are someone I admire and look up to. You are someone who has positively shaped my life more than I can say anyone else ever has. You have played a role in helping me grow from a girl, to a young woman soon to be a woman. Most importantly, you are a friend and I cherish every moment that I am able to talk to you because people like you are rare to find in this world. I cherish New York and the nuts who gave us something to remember. And, there is so much more. 

Earlier, I said that I will be taking a few days or weeks off to focus on myself and I meant it. But, upon further reflection, I may be taking an indefinite leave. I am not blaming the site or the internet... I can’t blame anyone but myself, but I have done a few things that I am not proud of. I have become a person I no longer recognize as myself, and iVlog is an enabler of my bad habits. How can I ever expect to “find myself” if I keep running to iVlog/the internet to escape from the realities of life? I think what is best for me now is to step away from iVlog and so much of the internet in general. 

I don’t know what is waiting around the corner for me, but I know there has to be more to life than iVlog. As much as I’ve enjoyed my time on these sites, I think there comes a point when you have to step away. As hard as it is for me to leave, because that would mean leaving your show, it may be what I have to do. 

I think I will sit on the idea for a few a while, and go with what feels right. 

SEVEN

I can’t help but to reminisce..... 

We first met three years ago around this time. It’s a memory that I will always be fond of. I was 21 then and full of wonder. I’m 24 now, and I’m so happy to have met you twice now. Once in December and once this past August. I’m glad to be able to call you a friend, Marjorie. 

Talk to you soon. 

Linny

END