Dear Meggie

October 14th, 2012

October 14th, 2012

 

Dear Meggie,                                                                                                                                  

There are things you just can’t understand about me. Such as why I’m so upset all of the time. Or why I have strange scars on my ankles that I try not to show anyone. But in my letters, I think I could try to help you understand better.

At the start of the school year, you barely paid any attention to me. But it was understandable, for of course, I am not your only friend, and at the time, I was far from being your closest. I could never have dreamt we would have been where we are now. Always with the other, spending time with each other more than anyone else, laughing at each other’s jokes and teasing each other about silly things. Well, until I began to look at you differently.

Our first fight was when I just couldn’t take the fact that you had hurt yourself. You didn’t deserve that. And compared to so many others, your life was perfect. Perfectly athletic. Perfect body. Perfect face. Perfect personality. Perfect everything. You said that you didn’t want people to make fun of you, when it was usually me who was made fun of. You complained about your father’s drinking habits, while at least yours remembered who you were. After that fight, you had gotten mad at me, for I had shown you how perfect your own life was. At least you weren’t a starving child in Africa. And you hadn’t cut again.

Sure, there were little fights here and there, but not enough for either of us to be mad at the other for more than an hour. You still didn’t know about my problems as much, and you didn’t need to. No one did. They were my problems, after all. Until today, during class, our last day of warmth during October. I was wearing shorts, and my sock had fallen down to show my scars.

You got mad at me about it. You asked me to explain.

I can’t explain in a way to make you understand.

Although, if I document these things, you might some day. Some day when I’m gone. If I’m gone. These will be what you have left of me, for I know you’ll miss me very much if I happen to disappear some day. I don’t want to leave this world without having the person I care about the most not knowing anything about me. So, I guess I’ll start here. Hopefully you’ll understand.

 

Lot’s of Love,

Harriett