Words Left Unspoken

Angela's Letter.

                                                                                                                                                           April 28, 2009

Dear Angela,

We were cousins, but much more than that as well. We were friends—at least I thought. At family reunions, you were always the first to ask me how I was doing. We were so close that sometimes it felt like you were the only person I could talk to. You understood me, and listened when I had something to say.

You know, they say cousins have a special bond.

And I believed that too, because we had a weird sort of connection.

Your out-of-the-blue phone calls always seemed to come at the exact moment I needed to talk to someone.

The last few months have been crushing me, yet you didn’t call—our connection must have been broken somehow.

I don’t expect you to understand how I feel. I don’t really expect anyone to. The only thing I can do is try and describe it—although I doubt I’ll find suitable words in the dictionary to express it.

It began like a storm that appears on the horizon, moving in slowly at first, barely perceptible. But, before I knew it, the gray clouds were looming over me, and with a crack of thunder, they released everything they’ve been holding in for so long—soaking me to the bone. That’s how I felt. My caged up feelings broke free, crashing into me like a tsunami, sweeping me up in a rush of emotion and carrying me away.

You always told me,  "If you ever need someone to talk to, I'm just a phone call away."

But when I called you, on the edge of tears and said, “I'm being bullied... They call me names... They push me around... and no one has tried to stop them.” You assured me that they were just being teens—if I ignored them, they would get bored and move onto someone else. It was my fault, really, for letting them get in my head. I was being silly for making such a big deal about it. Words can’t hurt me, right? That may be true, but I can hurt me—and their words make me want to.

I tried to insist, to call again, to reach the understanding Angela I thought was there—I’ve seen her before. She’s held me while I cried before—but you had plans this weekend. Your friends took priority to my petty problems.

My bullies, even though I hated to admit it, were right—no one cared about me. No would ever care. I just had to face it. I don’t know what made me unlovable, but something did—why else wouldn’t anyone care?

I left you so many messages, but you never got back to me.

Ironically, you ended our last call with, “I’ll talk to you later, okay? Just call me.” You pretended to be just a phone call away, but there was no heart in your words. You never really meant that, and as I hung up, tears running down my cheeks, I realized it. I guess cousins’ bonds aren’t really all that special.

After that, I just gave up. I had nothing left to do, nothing left to try. I just waited for them to stop—like you said, but guess what? They didn’t.

I didn't fight to be helped. I didn't fight their words. I didn't fight for anything anymore.

I became a hollow shell of what I once was—staring into nothing, trying to escape my reality, but the vacuum that my heart had become kept me locked inside this body, which was flooded with emotions that I didn’t want to feel.

I stopped doing my homework; I stopped talking to my friends. I didn’t eat anymore—I just didn’t have the energy to do anything. But still, no one came to realize I was dying inside.

Not even you. You don’t need to be a psychic to know what I was going through—I told you. Maybe you should check your messages.

Goodbye forever,

Gracie.