Dear Meggie

October 18th, 2012

October 18th, 2012

 

Dear Meggie,

During 4th period today, I made you laugh. I began to crack stupid puns. It went a little something like this:

Me: Hey, Meggie, did you hear about that guy who got his whole left side cut off?

You: *Sigh* No, Harriett.

Me: Well, he’s all right now, anyway.

You: *Tries to stifle a laugh*

Me: Do you know any sign language?
You: No.

Me: Well, you should learn. It’s pretty handy.

You: Oh, ha-ha, very funny.

Me: Are we alright?

You: Yeah. We’re alright.

It was hard going an entire week without you. The friends that ‘we’ have are more reliable to you. So, basically, it was just an entire week of loneliness. One of the cuts on my ankle have been dedicated to me now. But loneliness wasn’t all that I dealt with.

Sarah, she came up to me during our lunch period on Thursday. She said, “Hey look, its the sad little girl who won’t ever let anyone understand her. ‘Oh, I’m feeling sad today, why don’t I cut open my wrist? That’ll totally make it better!’ As if.” She threw her stupid pink milkshake on my shirt. She’s never quite liked me. And if you’re mad at me, she’ll do whatever she can to make my life hell.

Is it sad that I can barely walk straight when you’re mad at me? It scares me. If you can just break me off like a twig on a branch, then how much could I possibly mean to you? It makes me feel like I’m disposable and replaceable. It’s never fun to feel like you can be replaced. I guess you can go more than an hour without talking to me.

I remember sitting at home, not knowing what to do. I would try and say the littlest things to you, and you would just ignore me as if I was a piece of trash that your parents wanted you to take out. I had brought the tiny silver blade down on my leg, and had cut deeper than usual. The scarlet bloomed on my skin, and fell off of my ankle in small drops, until finally, it was a stream pouring onto my hand and off of the floor. I just let it bleed. I didn’t know what to do.

Maybe if I had done it, just a little deeper, I could have died. But of course not. If I had wanted to, wouldn’t I have done it on my wrist instead, breaking the veins, and there would be no way to go back?I keep thinking maybe that’s what you’re pushing me to do. But why?

Today, we’re okay, I suppose, but what if you toss me aside forever one day? I guess only time can tell.

Sincerely,

Harriett