Dear Jacob

Letter 12

Dear Jacob,
I haven't left the house since we got back from London. I've moved from my room to the kitchen and back again. The only people I'll speak to are Ruth and Robin. And you, but only through writing.
Mum doesn't have an issue with me. She'll call me for dinner, make sure I eat something, and then watch me slide back up to my room without a word. Dad does have an issue though. He tried talking to me. I carried on staring at the bracelets I was making. He tried shouting at me. I just carried on putting the chocolate chips on cookies in different faces. Angry for my dad, worried for my mum, happy for Robin, sad for me. He tried everything, but, like a robot, I ignored him.
Yet no matter how bad I feel, I cannot tell him anything. He just wouldn't understand. I can't talk to anyone else. All they do is ask how I'm feeling. Which makes me cry. This is why I write notes to my mum if I want something. It's inconsistent and inconvenient, but writing helps. It always helps. The letters' can't ask me how I am. They just sit there and do what I want. Sometimes they don't though. Sometimes they won't stay in lines. When I cry they won't stay still. Which is why I don't cry. I don't feel.
Robins trying to convince me to come to a meal with your family to explain what happened. I'm not allowing myself to think about it too much. Our meals have never gone right...
It's like the one we organized. I knew I wanted you to meet my family and vice versa. But it was like trying to give your dog a bath. It's to make sure they are happy and live a good life, but they don't think the same. And certainly don't treat you that way when you attempt the bath.
Maybe if I think about it for a little longer, I will be able to explain it better, but I'm tired. I'm always tired. I want to sleep. There's always that 'maybe' with sleep. Maybe I won't wake up. Maybe it was all a dream. Maybe I'll wake up and I'll have to continue. But, for now, I will welcome the dark and hide away in my dreams. They aren't much of a consolidation these days, but at least it's a place where I can see you regularly again. They are terrible dreams, but at least they can't be worse than this pressing loneliness that sits on my shoulders.
Love, Emma