Dear Someone

15 September 2012

15 September 2012

Dear someone,

I finally travelled outdoors today. Mum said, “Georgia, why don’t you take your brother out for a walk?” And so, I said yes. I don’t usually argue with my mother. I can’t bear the thought of hurting her any more than I already am. It’s not voluntary hurt, mind you; it’s entirely out of my hands or anyone else’s, for that matter.

Robbie is only ten and he doesn’t get out very often. If, ever. Mum has driven far past the overprotective cliff and I’m not sure if she’s just lost down there or if she’s made home instead. I don’t think I’ll try to find out either.

My brother and I had decided to go to the park and when we got there, I was surprised to find it empty. It usually isn’t that empty, especially on a day as sunny as today. I expected it to be littered with people, but it wasn’t. Which is strange. At least, I think so.

Robbie had pushed my wheelchair over to the park benches, stepping on the pedal to hold it in place while he ran off to the swings. I watched him for a long time and it was pleasant. Before I got sick, I was a talker. I could talk for hours on end, with no one to stop me. I just…well, I just loved to ramble. Sometimes about important things, but mostly about things that don’t really matter at all. But I still talked about them and that made me happy.

However, since the time that I became sick, I became quite isolated from those friends of mine whom I would ramble to. To be honest, I bet they’re all glad to have gotten rid of me. I’ll admit, I was selfish at times and I talked my mouth off while they didn’t utter a word. They heard all of my stories, but I didn’t get a chance to hear theirs. Now that I’m the quiet one, I understand just how important it really is to listen – to listen and learn and discover. You hear a lot, you see a lot and you learn a lot from silence. It’s beautiful in a way not many things are.

While I was sat on my chair, humming to an old tune in my head, a little bird came swooping just past my shoulder and onto the ground. I think it was a robin because it had ginger belly and I remember robins to have ginger bellies when I did a project on them in Year 9. The poor thing flapped its wings, but it was obvious, it was having the utmost difficulty doing so. I wanted to help it, I really did, but I couldn’t. It was getting harder and harder to get up without the help of another and I didn’t know if I would be able to do it now.

So I did something. I did something really bad. I watched the little bird struggle and deteriorate in life. There was a sickening feeling in my stomach and although I’m still not entirely sure what it is, it’s hurt me more than all the injections I’ve had over the past year. I watched the little bird die in front of my eyes while I did nothing.

I won’t sleep tonight and I can’t help but wonder if those who kill others ever feel the same way I did today. I wonder if this feeling hurt them as much as it hurt me. I wonder if I’m a killer. I don’t want to be. I really, truly, don’t want to be.

Sincerely yours,

Georgia Watson