Truth Is

Scared

Dear…. How should I start this? How about just… Hi.

Hi.

   It’s been over a month, actually, almost two now. I can’t believe that. It feels like yesterday I broke that pan. Remember that? I fixed it, and don’t you forget it.

   I don’t actually know why I’m writing or what about, but I am. It’s on a whim, so don’t judge me…

   What did I want to say?I guess everything I can’t tell anyone else. Truth is, I’m scared. Well, scared isn’t exactly the best word. I’m anxious. I can’t help but wonder if you’d judge me for what’s inside. No one, not even my friends, knows what’s in there, which scares me. Would anyone like me anymore? Who would remain my friend? Perhaps I would end up how I’ve always picture myself, a complete loner… and invisible.

   Invisible, yeah. All my life I’ve felt invisible, until orientation in Grade 9. But even after that, I’ve gotten that feeling back. Like no one sees me, no one cares, no one would care again. I don’t like it but I do at the same time, it’s like I’m a born loner. Maybe I am, though. Do people like that exist? If so, I am.

   I’m scared of many things, you know that? I hide it. I’ve gotten good at hiding my deepest emotions. Soon, I expect, all hell will break loose and I’ll go insane. But maybe not, I’m probably just exaggerating. Like I seem to always be to people. Not serious, just a kid. Maybe I am, too. But maybe not.  I don’t even know, because it has always just been one way.

   And it’s all my fault.

   It always has been, and it won’t change.

   I’m scared you think I’m a bitch, or I talk too much about myself. I don’t try to, swear.

   I have a cut on my arm. How did that happen? Why do I always have scratches? It’s probably nothing, probably just when my cat leaps. Probably.

   See, there I go again.

   I guess I’m scared of a lot of things, but I don’t have any big fears, except one. One terrifying thought… I don’t want to say, though. It’s my secret, one of many that I never try to keep, I just never have a chance to speak.

   And that’s what I’m used to. It’s always been that way.

   People think I’m quiet and shy, and I am. But I also have nothing to say, but too much to say. I don’t speak because…. What would I say? Nothing casual, everything deep. Who wants to hear that?

   I think that’s why I chose to write this, to speak. It’s my chance. I don’t care if you read, you can leave now and I won’t give a crap.

   Welcome to my chance.

                                                                                                                                -Andi

This is probably just going to be a short story. This is a work of fiction, with perhaps some truth, but it’s not all real. Andi is not me, so please don’t think that. I’m sorry for any typos, my keyboard is messed and doesn’t always type the letters I click. J