Anywhere But Here

“Why am I even here?!” Sad and guilty does not even begin to describe how I feel right now. It’s a chasm, a blackhole ready to consume me. I feel as though I did not exist until now. The pain is all that I remember. Any other memory is too vague and distant. I can’t eat nor sleep; it should be illegal to be like this. It’s so ironic, my situation. Our situation. I don’t think that any of us can really become whole or even recover. Discomfort, that’s another word that I would use. Everyone is uncomfortable here. At least they didn’t give me Libby’s room. That’s one of the ways they show that they are hurting too. Another tell is silence. I’m sure their faces reveal it as well but I haven’t looked at them since.

We rarely speak, the three of us. Each is trying to heal in our own way. Or die or leave. I guess an orphanage would have been too harsh for their conscience. You know, if they sent me there instead. I did not really have options. Shit street is where I’m at. I want to die. I WANT TO DIE!!!!! Please let lightning strike me or the same alignment of fates that caused this situation in the first place take me. Five minutes, a second, it’s crazy how such a short interval changes everything. The doctors could have punctured my lungs or something. A broken rib that’s all I got from the accident. The other driver was drunk. Which is a bit problematic because if I do live longer than eighteen, I see myself as an alcoholic. That’s four years away. I can’t end it because they will feel even more empty. Despite the circumstances I know that they care about me the same as I care about them. Last week I was gushing over boys and now I’m broken and desolate.

I can’t do drugs because I promised Mom that I would not. It would be an insult to her memory. See I’m trapped. I am literally existing. Living to die. Uncle Tommy, I don’t know how he does it. He lost his only sister and his daughter. On the same day. Now he has to take care of his sister’s daughter. So he works. Makes himself scarce and busy this way he ignores everything. No time-off to grieve. Aunty Joan, she’s a florist. Now all flowers remind her of funerals. Well, they remind me of funerals but if it isn’t the same for her, she must be detached from reality. The entire living room was filled with floral arrangements after the joint funeral. And then me, I lost my father, my mother and my cousin all at once. I must be cursed. I also hate ice-cream now. I never want to see cookies and cream, chocolate and chunky monkey again. I will advise anyone to make more than one child, I can suggest that because I’m an only child. If I had a sibling we would be in the same boat, if my dad had a sibling, I would be with them instead of here. Actually ,maybe my sibling would be dead, given my luck. Lottery never. One revelation that I made though is that money will not solve this problem. If I suddenly became massively wealthy I would still be sad. Me from a week ago would be utterly shocked. My goal in life was to be rich. I didn’t know what job I wanted but I wanted to be living lavish.

Yesterday, we tried to have dinner together for the first time and I heard -

“Pass the pepper Liii-Anna.” So I don’t think today we’ll try that again or I might become bulimic. How can I try to be as unproblematic as possible when I have so many problems?!?How I can I live my life with this on my shoulders ,with this on my chest? I cried so much since it happened. I did not know that my body had so much water, if I cry anymore it might be blood running down next. How do I go to school next week? And if I don’t go to school how can I stay like this any longer. It is literal torture, my thoughts and emotions. The white walls are nice though. This guest room is perfect for me. Impersonal. Empty except for a bed. It parallels with me and my empty life.  I will never smile again or at least smile genuinely again. Let the game of charades begin. While writing this letter I just thought that maybe I can aim to be an actress. If I can pretend to be composed with this, I will be able to act because at one point in my life my life depended on it. Hello Oscars. I can’t act, Libby wanted to act, that would have been her thing. This activity is stupid, Ms. Therapist, you will never see this letter. Journaling is nice though, I said some things that I wanted out of me. They were fighting really hard to escape. Like a genie when you rub a lamp. I would really like that right now. I would wish that I could go back in time and stop us from going, or just wish that it never happened. That’s all my rambling for now. I’m being called for dinner, these people are more mental than me, clearly. It’s time to practice my poker face in the mirror. I can’t look as crestfallen as I feel. I really really really want to lay down and do nothing. Sigh, I can’t have anything can I? I like things to match. An empty stomach to complement my emptiness. Are there really brighter days ahead? Does this stormy cloud have a silver lining? Is there a pot of gold waiting for me? Maybe I can throw some coins into a well and make a wish. Something can happen. Stay tuned for more misery.

From myself,

Anna,

A massive train wreck