Dear Gilbert,

Gilbert (as I have chosen to call you),
You were wrong about me being undeserving of friendship, love and companionship and the acknowledgement of how my neurodiversity thereby affects and enriches and expands the way in which I see the world. I am profoundly imperfect, as are you... Yet I love you still, with every fiber of my being. With everything that my heart and spirit and life can now fully hold without it collapsing under the wooden floorboards where I still cry unto you and look for you, only to find nothing but shattered mirror fragments of the heart that we once shared. I love you because you are a miracle, even if you now dispise me for existing. I love you because you are an abulant heartbeat of love and kindness and openness and not the husk that now consumes you. I still know that you are in there. And I still know that you are real. But I cannot continue living like this. Not with this hatred for what was wroght on both sides. Not for the wretchedness of what threatens to destroy me. I have tested the waters... And have found wholeness, trust and light in a person who came with arms wide outstreched. Who loves me even on the days on which I am profoundly imperfect. And does not judge me for a single moment of faltering, but rather adjusts himself and works to understand me as best as he can. He said that he was worried. Because... He had a bit of a challenging time discerning sadness in my eyes, this friend of mine. They are large and doll-like and observant as you can remember them to be. But they see at a cost. And he wishes to understand that cost. On January 3rd, the sociopolitical collapse of my culture and the rise of new beginnings came for Venezuela. I was so worried, so very distraught thinking about how the taking into custody of who spearheaded the loss of countless of my fellow compatriots, would never and could never serve to restitute or to bring back the thousands of lives stolen. This tragedy still affects me. And it scars me so... I am still wounded by immigration... I am still wounded by refuge as taboo concepts because of how others perceive them. But I was more wounded by you not accepting them as aspects of the totality of who I am. You only judged me for my sadness. And my happiness, so newly emergent, scared you. This friend? He is the exact opposite. And you would be proud of me. He was so accustomed to seeing me absolved in wonder, in kindness and in compassion and artistry, that when I had no makeup on, that when I expressed myself more tiredly, effortfully and sharply as autistic burnout can sometimes manifest, and perhaps for the very first time, he stayed, he repaired my headphones, brought me ice cream and invited me to a social event to widen my support system and not to narrow it at all. He made me see things... He has made me hope again. And hope came once more when I realized that at my darkest just two weeks ago, interlaced with the sadness of you having left me, he still chose to include me. That is love, that is faith unyielding. And that is what I sadly could not provide for you when you chose to depart from my life, so abruptly and without a proper goodbye.

So goodbye to you, Gilbert. Que te consiga el mañana. Sano, estable, y en paz...

I used to think that you were my older brother. But I gained a real one in my friend, without ever even having to try.

I'll write about you and for you and in communion with you for as long as my heart can take it. Because I'll never forget you. And you'll never forget about me. One day, if you were to have a daughter of your own, you would understand that love without honesty is cruelty. And I was granted neither the promise of love, nor the grace of cruelty in your hands. I was just... Left there to wander. And my friend, my brother. He loves me as I am. And he looks for me. And he prays for me. And he makes time for me. And he loves me. So much so that even when I did show an ounce of hesitation, he didn't take it personally. He got me. He knew that I was struggling and stayed.

You didn't.

And you're just going to have to live without having me as your surrogate mother, emotional therapist by proxy and punching bag.

I don't need you anymore than you need me.

And thank you for freeing me.

Because you are no longer in my life, I now have someone who continues to want me in theirs even when I feel unlovable, or ill-equipped to communicate, or shy, or struggle to understand, or literalize, or am just... Visibly autistic. And yes, I am proud to be a freak. And a weirdo and every single denomination that you ever gave me. Because I would rather live as a good person, different but beloved, then live as someone who takes, who claims love without ever planting it first.

Please... Understand that you cannot live like this anymore. Please, free me from your memory so that I may move on.

With love, compassion and peace,

-M.