To my friends, but mainly to my family

I’m sorry I’m not the best of friends or daughter or sister. I’m sorry most of the time I don’t want to hang out. I’m sorry we make plans and then I make excuses to not show up. I’m sorry I am mean and angry. I’m sorry I pick up fights just because. I’m sorry I’m contrary. I’m sorry I’m selfish. I’m sorry I push you away. I’m sorry I drag you down. I’m sorry I’ve showed you my worries and my hurts and now you can’t carry them. I’m sorry I don’t feel the same way as you do or care for the same things you do. I’m sorry I’m always sad. I’m sorry I cannot have fun all the time. I’m sorry I’m lazy to you. I’m sorry I say I didn’t miss you. I’m sorry I am not the same happy child you loved. I’m sorry I cry or shout or frown all the time. I’m sorry I rarely smile. I’m sorry I say I want to die.
I’m sorry.
But I cannot help the feelings inside. I cannot help but feel everything so very deeply or not at all. Sometimes this insidious sadness takes hold of my windpipes and threatens with crushing them, and I can’t breathe. Most days I don’t want to get out of bed, even less the house. Most days I think I’ll die before I get to be my brother’s age. And I’m so damn sad all the time. I’m sad and I’m tired and I’m so goddamn scared. I think I’m depressed and I think I’ve been since I was twelve. I’m always angry because it is the boyguard of sadness. And I am lonely and nothing you can do will help it, because I feel alone in the fullest of crowds, and I feel left out even in my own family. I do not fit in and I never will, I have come to terms with that. I will never be less lonesome, it is who I have become. I may never fall in love or find joy in another’s company, I wasn’t built like that, I want you to understand, because I am comfortable in my loneliness. And when I say I don’t want to go to the beach with you and I want to stay home alone it is because I do not because I will have people over or have a party, it is because when I’m alone completely I do not have to hold up my shields and walls so high, I can put them down and breathe and for once, I can let all the sadness out without caring it will swallow and consume the ones around me. When I say I don’t like speaking it is because I don’t, but I do because I have so many words inside my head and it’s too loud and I know you don’t care and don’t agree most of the time with what I say but I need to let them out and I know it annoys you when I speak but it also annoys you when I don’t so I don’t know what to do. I cannot see the good in humanity because all I’ve seen is bad, and it starts with me. I’m sorry I don’t take criticism well; all the words you’ve said I already know and I already repeat them all freaking day, I know my faults like I know my eyes are brown, and I am a lot meaner to myself than you could ever be. I know all the things you don’t like about me, because, really, I don’t like them either; so if I get annoyed when you say I’ve gained weight or I should lose weight, or when you say I should wax or that something I do isn’t ladylike, believe me, I KNOW. I know. I spend most of the day reading because the real world hurts too much, while I read at least I think I’m free. My music is either sad or loud and angry because that’s what I feel most of the time. I wake up late because I go to sleep late, so I don’t sleep too much, I barely get six hours on a good day. It’s not that I don’t want to go to bed early, because I do, but I can’t and if I stay up late on my phone or computer it’s because it gives me something to do until sleep kicks in and my mind finally turns off. When I say I love animals more than people I’m being serious; animals don’t ask me why I come with fangs and claws and spikes, because they have them too, and animals are not unkind on purpose, they don’t say mean things to hurt me, they don’t look at me and say I’m too strange or weird or abnormal, they do not expect me to be someone I’m not. And if I’m still alive you should thank the cats, because I couldn’t live with myself, not even in death, if I abandoned them, I’m their means of sustenance and I probably need them more than they need me but they know and that’s why they are so loyal to me. I get so invested in fictional worlds and people I don’t know because that’s the only way I feel I can express my emotions without calling attention to myself, without giving my secret away. And when I say I don’t believe in God it is not to spite you, it’s just that I don’t. I don’t think that he believes in us as much, or at all, as the rest of you believe in him. I don’t think he even cares. All the things I do I just am and I do not do them to spite you.

I’ve changed since I was a child, I became sad and angry and lonesome and contrary and too different and yes, sometimes, I too miss who I used to be. I do. It was so much easier before I was this broken. But I can’t go back and I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry I’m such a trainwreck, this complicated, this broken.

I know you probably won’t read this but I write better than I speak and I would never have the actual courage to say all these to your face, not even in a letter. To the friends who read this, you already knew most of it and I’m sorry you have to put up with me and I’m sorry I make you worry. And to the family that could read this but probably won’t, I know you didn’t know and you didn’t mean to hurt me, but you did. And I forgive you. Even if I will carry the scars for the rest of my life and even if sometimes I am so angry because it’s not fair, it’s not fair that I am the one broken and that I am unable breathe because of this insidious sadness. Even then, I forgive you because not doing so hurts me more than it hurts you, beause you didn’t even know that words, even as jokes, hurt too.

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