Dear, Stranger.
Dear Stranger
Dear Stranger,
I’m so terribly sorry; I don’t even know where to begin. I’ve never been raped, hell; I’ve never even been in love. Sure, I’ve had a few girlfriends but they only lasted a few weeks and they kind of scared me. I’m an eighteen year old virgin. But that secret probably isn’t even close to your secret, so I’ll tell you another.
Year before last, I guzzled ammonia and bleach. It burned up my esophagus and I couldn’t talk for a really long time, which was lovely for my parents who screamed insults and bible quotes and condemnations at me while I couldn’t say anything back. My parents hated me for it, being mega-Christians they thought it was the biggest sin ever committed, trying to take your own life. I was miserable. I still am.
Nothing I do is ever right. They sent me away for a summer to church camp, and told me if I ever tried something like that again I’d go to boarding school. Like I was trying to kill myself to upset them.
I don’t think I’m suicidal anymore, I might be. I’m too unsure of myself. My mind is like some muddled pond, and I can’t ever see what’s lurking underneath the water. I just never know. Something might go wrong and then I’ll be on the next bus to crazy town before I even know what hit me.
I haven’t ever told anyone that before, the only people who know are my parents, a few select members of the church flock who prayed for my soul, and now you. Because you can’t judge me. Or, well, you might be able to. I don’t know. I don’t want to be judged on the past. I’ve learned from the present that it doesn’t matter.
I hope your ex-boyfriend rots in jail. You’re too good for him. I hope I know you well enough to say that.
What is your family like? You’ve sure heard plenty about mine.
Good thoughts, telepathic ‘Get Well Soon’.
-Me
I’m so terribly sorry; I don’t even know where to begin. I’ve never been raped, hell; I’ve never even been in love. Sure, I’ve had a few girlfriends but they only lasted a few weeks and they kind of scared me. I’m an eighteen year old virgin. But that secret probably isn’t even close to your secret, so I’ll tell you another.
Year before last, I guzzled ammonia and bleach. It burned up my esophagus and I couldn’t talk for a really long time, which was lovely for my parents who screamed insults and bible quotes and condemnations at me while I couldn’t say anything back. My parents hated me for it, being mega-Christians they thought it was the biggest sin ever committed, trying to take your own life. I was miserable. I still am.
Nothing I do is ever right. They sent me away for a summer to church camp, and told me if I ever tried something like that again I’d go to boarding school. Like I was trying to kill myself to upset them.
I don’t think I’m suicidal anymore, I might be. I’m too unsure of myself. My mind is like some muddled pond, and I can’t ever see what’s lurking underneath the water. I just never know. Something might go wrong and then I’ll be on the next bus to crazy town before I even know what hit me.
I haven’t ever told anyone that before, the only people who know are my parents, a few select members of the church flock who prayed for my soul, and now you. Because you can’t judge me. Or, well, you might be able to. I don’t know. I don’t want to be judged on the past. I’ve learned from the present that it doesn’t matter.
I hope your ex-boyfriend rots in jail. You’re too good for him. I hope I know you well enough to say that.
What is your family like? You’ve sure heard plenty about mine.
Good thoughts, telepathic ‘Get Well Soon’.
-Me