This Strange World

Letter

Dear Elena,

I'm sorry. I am so sorry to leave you. I have to get away. I know you feel it too. I see the mocking glances, and I see that it affects you. It affects me too. I hide it, but you probably know me well enough to see it. All those notes, the comments, all the things thrown at me, and I couldn't take it. I'm rather disappointed, and I know you are too. But they are all true and that is what affects me. To every "Freak!" to every name, I know they're true. I am a freak. Look at me. Everything about me is freaky or weird, or different, and it all adds up to one big me. One big freak. One big weirdo. I used to say thanks to all the weird, and then it happened. When you met me, all the way back, I was quiet. You have commented on how you never thought I'd be this loud back then. That's because I was recuperating. I had this monster in my chest, tearing me apart inside out. I kept it all in, and that was my undoing. If I had spoken out, had said something anything, I might've been better. This cloud has led me to too much pain, too much sorrow. And I would do anything to get away from. So that's what I'm doing. I'm leaving. I'm getting away from this town, these people. I'm getting away from all my sorrows. And my only regret is you. I'm leaving you there to suffer, but you are an actual inspiration instead of my empty words, You bring power to the bullied. And your parents. They would break without you. I know it's you that holds the family together. The prospect of having to put you through the stress of a divorce is keeping your parents together. So, I'm saying goodbye. I don't know what I'm doing next, but I can do anything. I'm free. That's all I ever wanted. Free from the pity glances of teachers and parents, free from the mocking glances as kids see what adults cannot, free from the suffering. I fell apart. The smiles everyone sees, are some of my fakest. Can a normal person say that? Can they say that what most everyone believes about them, is a lie? Can they say they have felt death, the slowly spiraling smoke that only life can deter? Can they say that not many would notice your absence? I know you care, and that is my greatest regret. That you have to see me like this, but it's your nature to take in strays. I'm just sorry you had me to take in. Do not try to find me. I will not be found. If I had any sense at all I wouldn't be writing this, but that is what it means to be human, isn't it? To be nonsensical? To be wrong? To care? I hope you see that I'm broken. I'm in pieces, El, and there is no glue. Even if there was, do you think anyone would take the time to fix me? In Japan, broken things are fixed with gold. Poured in the cracks, it is said to raise the value of an object. But gold is hard to find. You are gold, but nothing is enough. You have other people to save, other people to fix. Don't waste time on me. Don't waste your life, there are people who need it more. Because I'm used to it. I can deal with it. I've dealing with it for so long now, yet not a day goes by that it doesn't affect me. A passing thought turns into a storm of thoughts raining down. I always liked the rain. But not this one. This one is forceful, bearing down on you with the weight of worlds, yet no one else feels it the same way you do. Everyone takes it different. Some turn it to gold, as you did. You took your pain and turned it into desire for no one else to feel it. You have saved so many people. You see the good, and I see the relief afterwards in the person's eyes, because no one deserves you, yet you give yourself away. You would do it to your worst enemy, if you had one. But you don't, because everyone needs your sunshine. So don't stop shining. Maybe I'll see you again. I would be able to say thank you. Since I'm not with you, I'm saying it now. Thanks for trying. For doing what not many people could even think of. After all, why try?

Love,

Lindsey