Letter to myself

A letter

    A girl of average brains and average marks. A girl who could be really fun to hang out with normally. There are lots of friends. Everyone’s a friend. Always be nice to strangers. Understand others and be helpful. Never lie.

    But sometimes you have to lie. I don’t want to lie. Sometimes you can’t have too much fun. But I like to have fun and be silly. Sometimes you have to be serious. But that’s not something that deserves to be discussed seriously.

    Sometimes a best friend becomes a friend. A friend becomes an acquaintance. A person you spent days talking with barely has the time to say hi or bye anymore. One day you look around and you don’t know anyone anymore. You don’t know why you’re there. Why am I doing this?

    You try to talk to your best friends. They’ll know what to do. But they don’t. You do everything you used to do. It’s not fun anymore. You see new people with the same faces as your friends. I don’t know them anymore. Isn’t there a single friend? You search and look at your friends. They’re all happy and laughing, just like always. I’m the one like this?

    Maybe the adults will know. I don’t trust my teachers. They’re only a few years older than us. Mom will know. Mothers always know exactly what to do. But she starts to spout religious stuff. If there’s a god, then he’s an idiot. Dad is out. He’ll just command me to be normal and then forget about it. Brother? Uncle? They have their own problems.

    Who wants anyone’s help? It’s in the mind. It came on its own and it’ll go away, like a cold. But it didn’t. I don’t know why this is happening. I don’t like classes. I don’t like adults. They’re supposed to know how to help. I hate people that assume they know everything. What does she know? Am i supposed to blindly do what she says just because she’s a teacher?! She keeps bothering me. Always saying I should be positive. I would be if I knew how, you idiot.

    She starts lecturing me daily. Saying the same thing. Stay positive. To stop her,I start to act positive. For a while, it works. Not for long. I act to stop the concerned looks. I act to stop the lectures. I act to act normal. It hurts.

    I hate lying. Acting is lying. Everyone laughs, I smile. Everyone jokes, I’m sarcastic. I get mad a lot, for silly things. My friends don’t talk to me much. This is better. But the lecture starts. I act. But then my friends talk to me again.

    Classes are annoying. Why does anyone need someone to teach them when they could learn much better on their own from books? I like reading. I read all the time. I understand these characters much better than my so called friends. The words invade my life but I don’t mind.

    I can write too. I write all I can’t say. I write pages and pages and then tear them so no one will read them. These are my life, my soul and my tears.

    Haven’t been to class in ages. Mom and dad are concerned. What’s their concern gonna do? It’s not worth anything. Mom cries. Dad cried. He never cries. Only screams, argues, commands and demands. If he says something, it has to be done or the whole street will hear him. He doesn’t cry. I don’t cry either. But we do now. What happened? I used to be so happy and normal.

    Mom shifts home. She’s with me now. I would’ve never become like this if she had been here in the first place. We’re happy. Mom and I talk all the time. I tell her everything, that is, everything I could.

    When I try to tell someone about what I really feel, my throat hurts. It closes up and I can’t speak anymore and my eyes water on its own. But I can’t cry. It’s over. I’m okay now. But it isn’t.

    Mom is happy here. She used to go to music classes back at home. Now she’s going to some language courses here. She’s always so happy like a child. If I tell her anything sad, she’ll cry. She gets sad easily but she passes it off by saying god will take care of it. What god? If there is god, why are there accidents, murders, suicides, rapists, etc. Why do they exist?

    She’s so pure. Sometimes I wonder who’s the mother and who’s the child. I can’t tell her these thoughts. I can’t make her cry. My throat hurts a lot. I feel like crying all the time. I feel like every word out of my mouth is a lie. When a tear comes out by accident, it hurts but it also feels good. But I can’t cry.

    I write what I feel. I write what I want. Then I burn it. I sing what I can’t say. I listen to songs a lot and keep reading books. Songs shut out the real world and books take me to another. I hear voices in my sleep. When I’m half asleep, I hear voices calling me. Just my name, over and over. Not letting me sleep properly. My dreams make no sense.

    When I feel like crying or shouting, I sing. I sing from the bottom of my lungs. Sometimes I cry when singing. It’s an emotional song so it’s ok. The lyrics are beautiful. Their voices are so heavenly. I can hear their thoughts through their voice more than the words.

   Eating. Why do we eat? To live. Why do we live? To do something. Do what? What do I do? Why am I here? Why was I born? Why didn’t mom kill me like she did my 4 unborn brothers? Why? What do I do?

3 years later:

Dear me,

         I wish you had someone to talk to. I wish you had a friend. I wish you had an adult in your life.

         I’m glad you didn’t think of suicide. Our mom did try to kill us and it hurts to know that. But you’re a born fighter. You fought fate and chemicals before you were even born in this world yet. We are a fighter and you will become stronger.

         I know you used to ask why a lot. Why this? Why that? Just why? It doesn’t matter. No one knows everything. Adults aren’t all knowing. Sometimes there aren’t answers. And that is okay. You don’t have to chase after it. Answers are butterflies that come to you when you’re calm, not when you’re loud and scaring it away.

           It’s okay to not know why. It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to be sad. It’s ok to be different from your friends. It’s okay if they don’t understand you.

         No one is so predictable that you know them 100 percent. Everyone has thoughts and feelings they don’t tell anyone. Everyone has parts that are hard to understand.

          That woman who’s always smiling and laughing, she’s lonely. That guy everyone laughs at because he never talks but when he does he talks too much, he has a whole world running perfectly in his mind.

         Do they sound familiar? They are older versions of you. No matter how much you try to, you can’t change the core of who you are. You are who you are. People will laugh or ridicule you but they will respect you more than anybody else they know.

         You don’t like to lie. Then don’t. You don’t have to. Be truthful. A kind truth may hurt pride a little but it always helps to grow.

        Always be nice. You don’t have to. Be nice when you feel it. If you’re sad or angry, tell them you are feeling so. It helps to just say it.

        Understand others. It’s good to be understanding. But it’s easier if you know yourself first.

         Be helpful. Help should be given where it is needed, not wanted. That lady that’s always arguing and making fun of others, you think you’re helping her by giving her advice or fighting back. No. She wants a fight but she needs a smile.

         Be serious. You think all adults have to be serious? No. You don’t have to force yourself. You can’t even if you try. If you don’t feel serious, then just have fun. It’s not a crime.

         You, me. We are the same. You think that you are different from everyone else. Well, you are. So is everyone. Every single person is a soul that has its own scars, powers, history and dreams. Everyone is different. You don’t have to act like your friends. You don’t have to anyone but you.

         Be yourself. And you will be a much better adult to someone else. If you see someone looking confused or sad, smile. He or she could be you.