Seventy Three.
That's the number of letters I have in my Breakdown Box. Every time I insult a new person, I write them an apology letter. I don't give it to them, obviously, but I know that one day, the world will just become to big for me to continue my pretending, and I'll crack. That day, each person I've hurt will receive their note. I know that it does not by any standards fix what I've broken, but I'm hoping that it will at least remind them that they are bigger than any insult I throw at them.
I am so much stronger in the comfort of the darkness. I would never even dream of having these thoughts in the daylight.
For example, my sister one day discovered my Breakdown Box while looking in my closet for a shirt I had borrowed. I almost had a panic attack trying to cover up what the contents of the shoe box really were. If she were to come in my room now, however, I may not have the strength to keep my walls up, and the letters may end up being sent out before I'm ready.
The darkness may make me stronger, but it also makes me forget everything I've spent two years trying to become. That is the reason why, in order to protect myself and my image, I lock the door every night before I lay down.
There is quite simply too much at stake for me to leave myself vulnerable in the middle of the night.
Ding.
I rush over to my laptop to check the message. I'm hoping beyond hope that the sender is someone who genuinely cares, and I'm in luck. It's an email from my pen pal, Marie.
Hey Girlie!
Phew, has this been a stressful week! Semester exams are creeping up, and adding to that, my parent's are still pressing for a cochlear implant. I'm not moving in my decision, though. I never will. I don't need to try and become something I'm not just to make their lives easier. It's their own fault for refusing to learn Sign Language when I was younger. Why should I be the one that has to change because of THEIR mistakes?
I still love them, though, even though they can be a little bit ignorant sometimes. They want life to be easier for me, but they're going about it the wrong way. Perhaps if I baked them a cake they would be more willing to listen to my ideas...
Marie Wilson and I have been emailing each other for over a year now. She's halfway across the world in London, England, but she has managed to keep me from insanity more than anyone I've ever met in person.
Marie's life can be defined in one word: happy. No, she is not the richest girl in the world, and it's not to say that she has never faced any troubles, but she perseveres. Her emails always manage to make me feel less burdened. After all, if a deaf girl living in a hearing world can manage to get up everyday with a smile on her face, then so should I.
I finish up reading Marie's email and shoot one back to her. After a few more minutes of perusing the internet, I shut my laptop and head to bed with a smile on my face. Talking to Marie may not solve all of my problems, but reading about her life always seems to make mine feel less impossible.
