The Letter to my Parents in case I ran away

            If you were to live a day as me, you would see that the world is a sad place filled with lonely people. You would look at the girl on the train, her head against the glass, listening to her music. She’s not really there. She is thinking, and thinking, and feeling things that she doesn’t want to feel. Things she is trying to push out. Her heart continues to build stronger tissues of walls, protecting herself from others’ words making her cry.

            If you were to live a day as me, you would wake up feeling the disappointment and resentment that you have for yourself �" and you feel the full weight of how you can’t do anything right. You get dressed for school, as usual, and you do your hair, and clean your bag. As you button the compartments, your heart feels heavy. It’s not a sadness, or anger, it’s just there. It exists. Something terrible will happen, and you know you will probably not be able to do anything about it.

            Imagine the one thing you love doing, in this whole world. Think about how you could do it all day, and not get bored. Think about how many times it’s saved you from eating your own heart out. Think about how you want the world to be able to see what you love to do. Think of all the sad, angry, even happy times that came with it. Now try to picture yourself, not being able to do that very thing anymore. Not because you suck, but because it no longer helps you to deal with your ghosts. Imagine it being robbed from you, so that you are left with nothing to love �" not even yourself. Imagine my world if I am not able to use my words.

            When things get to be too hard, I am the first person people seek. They ask me questions that I sometimes cannot answer. I know pain. I know it so well, and even though I may not understand, I try to. I listen. I allow people to open up and cry, or scream, or just talk. I know that sometimes, that’s all they need. No one is that good at keeping things to themselves, and not going into a state of death. I have died so many times, from shutting the door on my feelings �" my pain, my sadness, my anger, my despair. Of course, no one is as good as you, right?

            I don’t like sleeping. It gives me rest. It makes me forget the things I have to do, in order to be a “good person.” It messes up my cycle, how I do things. It makes me dream of people I have loved but could not reach. It makes me dream of losing things. It makes me scared. I do not like sleep. It’s a cry for help, really. When I don’t get enough sleep, or barely any at all, people notice. They notice the exhaustion and the sorrow on my face, badly being masked by my half-smile. They notice things you failed to. They noticed I was slowly dying.

            If you were to live a day as me, you would struggle through various things �" waking up, going to school and trying to learn so that you can make something of yourself, so that you’ll be worth it. You’ll make up all these ways in which you can be successful, to have someone be proud of you, and when you think you have tried your hardest, you really haven’t. You haven’t pushed yourself far enough to the point that you are almost dying, both mentally and physically. You are not worth it if you don’t push yourself hard enough. You have to smile, and laugh, and eat, and go to your classes, and come home, and do more work, and eat some more, and have barely enough time to ask yourself, “Am I doing all right?” We both know that if you were to live a day as me, you would be dead.

 

But what does it matter who I am? I am just your selfish daughter, who thinks about no one except herself.