One Thing To Another (Renewed)

22/07/18 - "Marianne"

Dear Marianne,

I knew you from the age of six until the age of twelve.

You are special, and you opened my eyes to scenarios I wouldn't have even imagined otherwise at the age I was.

I feel sad for multiple reasons looking back on things you said to me, the way you reacted to certain things, but also the way I treated you.

I will get into further detail on those three factors.

You said many things to me, things you couldn't open up to say to other people, probably not even your own mother.

I guess one of my special values ever since I was little, evidently ever since I was 9 years old, was that I'm a good listener. I've had many people tell me that in recent years, and looking back I identify similar scenarios even when I were a child.

You opened up to me, one fine morning in 2010. You told me how scary the man who was supposed to be your father was, how your existence wasn't a result of love, and how much fear there used to be in your household with that man's presence.

You never had any siblings, your mother was a struggler in many different ways, and worked very hard to give you the best that she could give.

You didn't have anyone to tell your feelings to, to express how truly unhappy you were.

The words I heard from you were words I had never heard before, they were words I never expected to hear and they were words no 9 year old should hear from another 9 year old.

I can remember the incident that took place on a different morning, after the morning where you told me everything that there was to be said. That morning you and I were sat at the front of our primary school, looking at the arriving cars which dropped two or sometimes three children off ready to start the day. It was a breezy spring morning. I can remember the blank, pale expression your face took as soon as you'd noticed a bald-headed male figure from the distance. I could see the words going on in your head. The words you were saying to yourself. I saw them through your eyes. You cursed your existance in that moment, and I, just another 9 year old, felt helpless. There was nothing I could do to help. But it wasn't him, it wasn't your father, it was some other little girl's father, who happened to look like the man who had spoiled your childhood, completely and utterly. I can remember the sigh of relieve you gave after it was confirmed in your head that it wasn't him.

That's not even the worst part. The worst part was when it wasn't just you and I talking, when I joined the rest of my peers and left you lonely. The others bullied you, and I was a push-over. I joined in. I hate myself for that. I hate myself so much, every single day. I hate myself for creating this trust bond for you, since you truly did need it, and I just blew it.

Now, you don't remember me, I haven't seen you in over five years, but I remember you. I remember you because of the mistakes I made. I wronged you, and it wasn't something I couldn't have possibly thought at the time.

I'm sorry my mind was so simplistic, and I'm sorry that I did everything I did.