Dear Someone

14 September 2012

Two months ago, I read the genius work of Stephen Chbosky called, The Perks of Being a Wallflower. In case anyone is curious, yes, it was AH-mazing. I loved every last bit of it and I'm gutted it's over. Anyways, it sparked some inspiration into me and so I wrote this little thing.

This is dedicated to a friend from school. She knows who she is. 

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14 September 2012

Dear someone,

I don’t know why my mother insists I write to you because in all honesty, this is a complete waste of time. I’d much rather be watching the late night telly or reading a good book. But I can’t because Mum says I have to do this. So I am.

What am I even meant to write about?

I have no clue.

I guess I could begin with my name. It’s Georgia. I just turned seventeen this past month; celebrated with all my family and friends. It was loads of fun. For them. I was sitting in a wheelchair by the broken fan, completely forgotten by the people who claimed this party was for me. I wonder if Mum is planning on reading these herself, seeing as she is the one who is forcing me to write. Well, if she is, I hope she knows I love her, but her constant sheltering is giving me a headache.

I go to school with approximately a quarter of my town’s population. I’m not joking. It’s a very small community. My best friend, Macy, doesn’t spend much time with me. She’s always busy. One time, I called her out on it and she stammered, “I’m sorry, Georgia. I have so much going on lately and trust me, I don’t even get to see Aaron anymore either because of it. I’m not ignoring you.” But she is. I saw her, the other day, laughing with the other girls in school outside the courtyard when I decided to make a short visit. Clearly, I’m not so important to her any more. I’m not really important to anybody.

Mum says I don’t need her, but truth is, I do. I hate how much I need her because obviously, she doesn’t need me. But I feel so alone. So…alone. I want someone to listen to me while I ramble, to be my shoulder to cry on. I’m sick of letting the tears dry on my cheeks. It hardens after a while and then I feel even worse. But Macy doesn’t want to be there for me anymore, so I have to stop thinking about it.

Now, I would keep writing because I’m sort of enjoying this. Maybe this was what Mum wanted. She’s a cheeky little bugger sometimes. She can pull tricks from out under my nose. I love her dearly. I love my father, too. And my brother. I love them all.

I have to go, unfortunately. It’s dinner time. We’re having Bosnian tonight. The neighbours have sent it. I have to get going to else it’ll be forever and a day before I’m able to travel all the way downstairs in this damned two wheeled chair.

Sincerely yours,

Georgia Watson