letters to Ella-day 64

dearest Ella, 

I'm sorry I haven't written a letter in a while, lately I can't find the will to do anything. Talking to you is sort of the only thing that I'm not too depressed to do. I can't even listen to music a lot of the time, though it's running through my head constantly. I want to tell you that I'm alright, I really wish I could, but I can't lie to you dearest. 

In complete honesty, I'm not alright. 

I can't concentrate in my classes because of all the stuff that's going on in them. It's gotten to the point where I don't even bother to try to pay attention to the lesson and simply take the notes that I need and for the rest of the time just sketch. My marks haven't been affected by it but people have started to say that I'm a slacker and I don't do any work. That last bit got worse because people now think that I skip classes. For the record I have never skipped a class, but I've been signed out for a lot of things lately and people see me in the halls with other techies (or drumline people) and think I'm skipping. I hate being called a slacker because I'm really not just 'slacking off', I'm honestly doing the best I can right now and it's really hard to see that everybody thinks I'm not giving any effort when I really am. Even as I type this I'm wondering if you're going to tell me that they're right. 

Another thing that sort of goes with that is that I'm scared that people are going to start to notice that I get called to student services every week in english (sometimes twice a week) and not coming back for at least a half hour. What if somebody thinks it's because I'm doing poorly in classes or getting called for truant related things? What if, worse still, another student sees who's office I go into and hears to all to welcoming 'hello dear, how are you feeling today?' What if they saw and realized the reason I have to go? I'm scared of being called the crazy girl because I get pulled out of classes to see a therapist. Not that I'm not already called that though, thanks to some moron who saw my playing with a pin and started making all these comments about how I was 'emo' and I guess also because I never look happy enough and I'm too weird and oh ya, have a million cuts and scars all over my hands and wrists. 

Another thing is the fact that at school I'm known as the 'lesbian girl'. First off did anybody listen to me saying that I'm actually bisexual, not lesbian? Apparently not. When people say 'hey so I hear that you're the lesbian chick with the girlfriend' I always reply 'actually I'm bisexual, but yes I do have a girlfriend', then smile and walk away but somehow nobody hears the first part. I'm proud to have somebody as wonderful as you though (and I do love you so very much, nothing in the world will ever change that) so it's worth the rumors. The time when it bothers me is when people think that just because I'm not straight I must be some dirty minded little sl*t. Seriously, I was playing a guy for a history class skit and the character I was playing was talking about fashion, so there was a bit about 'rising hemlines'. It was a guy I was playing so, I made him say something about it 'leaving less to the mans imagination' and instantly the entire class gave me this look. It wasn't even my idea to say it, it was a group decision and I didn't even write most of the script because one of the guys in my group decided that since he was on honer role, nobody else could do it as well as him (for the record the  80% of the script that he wrote was total crap). The look I got was something like the look most give Zack when he makes comments about topics that I'd rather never repeat. Seriously, how come I'm suddenly a little sl*t for something that was in a script? 

My mom remains distant and cold, and I've come to hate her at times. She just does little things that hurt, things like giving my lunch bag to my sister or stopping saying 'i love you' to me. She's angry with me all the time and when she's not it's because something happened that made her look good. She got a job and the first thing she did was tell me that I had to come home right after school every day that I don't have drumline or tech crew and that that I had to quit working in the candy store at the historic village. I didn't have any choice but to agree and after all it would have been a horrible and self centered thing for me to say no anyways because it would have been an inconvenience for her. So now I have even less of my non-existent social life and will instead spend that non existent time watching over my sister (who hates me) only to look forward to my mother (who thinks I'm an inconvenience) coming home to tell me that my dad (who isn't really home much) won't be home until late. Thank goodness I can still talk to you for as long as you want me to. 

I guess that all this has to end up leading to something and it does but at the same time I don't know where this next part even comes from. This week I got a bit obsessive with cutting. Not bad cuts, mere scratches mostly, but I've started to try and hurt myself with whatever sharp or even moderately sharp object that I find. It's starting to drive Liz insane I think because of the number of things that she's had to take away from me in order to keep me from hurting myself; plastic knives, pins, paperclips, scissors, more pins, another plastic knife, more pins, an exacto knife (we were in the graphics studio). The most frustrating one was when she realized that when I get stressed I press my nails into my arm in long scratches that sometimes bleed a bit so she looks for that now too. I can't stop myself, I don't even think about it, the moment I get upset I need to feel some sort of pain. 

How does it get worse? Well on thursday I was in a tech crew meeting (more like the tech crew hanging out in the studio being idiots and getting work done but there is always a formal meeting at the beginning) and somebody had a pack of silica jell. They were joking about how after the meeting they were going to kill themselves with it and after that there were all these suicide jokes. Being in a room full of people laughing and talking about suicide is one of those things that I know I never do well in. I flashed back to that image of the little girl staring into that dangerous drawer, a memory that isn't mine, but still the image haunts me. A friend of mine came up and poked me back into the present (cause you know, poking somebody in the side until they smack you is a great way to get them to listen to you) and I sort of stopped thinking about the whole thing for a while I was ok. But then something happened, I don't know what but all of a sudden there was a bubble between me and the world. I was watching the scene of card playing people as if from above, isolated from it, not part of it. I couldn't move, I couldn't reach through the bubble and back into the world I couldn't speak. Couldn't yell for somebody to help me. Reality started to look like a single moment that could be ended so easily, so quickly, so painlessly without anybody noticing if it wasn't for the fact that you were somewhere in that reality. I don't even remember what happened next, I just remember being stuck like that for at least fifteen minutes before somebody did something that made me move from the desk (pushed me off?). Somehow I ended up sitting on the desk that we use for announcements and somehow Liz was under that desk in a little cupboard that had a very small opening, like a tiny square cave. I don't remember sliding off the desk to sit on the edge of the shelf beside the compartment but somebody took a picture of me so I guess I did. I also don't remember starting to talk to Liz, or crawling into the cupboard beside her (don't worry love, there was lots of room in there, it's just got a small 'doorway') but somehow I ended up in there and telling her what was wrong. I think I scared her actually because well you can probably guess what the numbness was creating a risk for. We talked for a while after until the numbness dissolved somewhat and then after we rejoined the group I realized that I didn't have my phone and all of a sudden really really needed to talk to you. I guess you know the rest of the story so I'll let you fill in the rest. 

Right now I'm just sort of trying to escape the bubble and missing you like heck. I swear I'd give anything to be able to see you again. Anything, when you're gone my heart leaves with you and all the color and feeling leaves with it. Your heart beat was the last thing I felt. Now everything is blank. I wish so much to just be with you again but is that too much to wish for? I know it's only two weeks away but somehow it feels like forever. Would you even want to see me though? Does anybody even want me alive? I don't know, right now I feel like I'm not worth anybody's time or energy (both of which I've probably taken up way too much of). I hate capitalizing the word 'I' but I'm worried about my writing looking even worse if I don't so I will, actually I try to use that word as little as possible because I (there it is again) don't want to seem like a self centered b**ch. I'm so sorry Ella, if you've even made it to the end (or almost end) of this letter I'm amazed. Believe me Ella, I'm so sorry for all the pain that I'm causing you. 

I love you, 

forever yours, 

anna (i won't even bother capitalizing my name there) 

The End

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