Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-27706951-20160131003950

I

“Dear Anna..

Up until now, I was torn between going on with my life and doing.. this. But I think it’s better that I am not a part of your life anymore. It’s kind of ironic, don’t you think? When we were kids, long time ago, you promised me that we will never be apart. And now, this letter is the only thing you will have as a reminder that I ever existed in your life, just to get you out of the living hell you currently reside in. I guess some things are not something you can plan ahead, though.

We were friends since the first day we saw each other. Ever since second grade, and maybe before, you were the shy kid, always staying in the back corner of the classroom, hoping that nobody will disturb you and your silly drawings on the pages of every notebook you owned. You were kind of good at it, to be honest. You had this talent of bringing anything to life. Dancing butterflies, blooming flowers and fairies were what you liked best.

I remember it was rainy outside, when I stepped into the class. A beautiful autumn rain, perfectly complementing the Mozart symphony being played by the music teacher on an old  tape player. So I quietly stood in the only empty seat I could find: the one at your desk. Do you remember those desks? They were full of doodles caused by the dozens of children sitting in them, year by year and had shared space for two persons. It fills me with melancholia to even think about it. It’s funny that a simple desk was all that drew us together. Knowing you, if only there was another empty spot, we might have never even talked. Boy, you were the quiet one.

Alas, I saw your scribblings and smiled at you, quietly introducing myself, fearing that the teacher, quite absorbed by the music, might acknowledge my presence and get mad at me for making noise. You smiled back for a second, then continued drawing, visibly irritated that a random kid dared to invade your personal space. It took me a while to get to know you. But slowly, you opened up to me. We started talking more and more, and suffice to say, your personality slowly changed mine.

By the end of the fifth grade, you were known as the most quiet child in the whole school. Me, alongside you, I suppose. I didn’t mind, though. It’s not like I enjoyed the company of others. Most of the other children were bullies, and I guess the fact that we were not enjoying the “usual” hobbies of childhood didn’t help either. Me and you?.. I enjoyed reading a SCI-FI or horror novel in my corner of the desk, while you were scribbling along characters I told you about, from the many I knew from my books while the “cool kids” were busy fooling around, pranking each other and getting in trouble over mischief. Someone could say that we weren’t close at all, since we weren’t always two inches apart, like the other “best friends”. But we knew better.

We even chose the same high-schools. The first year was Hell for you, so I tried to be supportive. Social anxiety was a real bitch. It was common for you to shy away from conversation with practically anyone, each time finding an excuse to end the talk short and leave to your one person dorm, locking the door on the inside and lose yourself in drawing, self conscious of the lack of your ability to socialize. I was always there for you, though. I only wanted to see you smiling. Then it came the moment when you asked me to paint my portrait. Remember that day? I had to stay still for quite a while, while you sketched the basic features of my face, before bursting out in laughter of how goofy I looked, keeping my breath to remain motionless. I still keep the framed picture on my wall..

More followed. You liked drawing me, which I found nice. I felt like I meant something to you, and I felt like I might one day become a known figure, like Donatello’s David. I had faith in everything you have done, honestly, acknowledging every talent you had. I saw the good parts in you, while you only seemed to see the worst you had to offer.

As sad as it may have seemed to you, those were the best days of my life. It’s getting late now and I should take my leave. With a bit of luck, after you had your breakfast you will find this letter and read it while you drink your morning coffee. You are so beautiful when you sleep.

Yours, Brody”

 --

II

“My dear Anna..

The doctors seem to think you are better and I am thankful for this. Who would have known that you were so desperate? How did I not see your call for help, hidden between smiles? I blame myself for everything, I was there most of the time, trying to be the best companion you ever had, but failed to realize the extent of your depression, I could not bring myself to believe that you can ever be broken.

You are a wonderful person and you were always a good student. Your calm and shy attitude to everything never really got in your way, as you continued your path, apparently unfazed. And I was always there, holding your hand through darker periods while you listened to any of my problems. Even when it seemed that nobody agreed with us spending so much time together, even when your parents said this must stop.. We remained inseparable. I loved you. I still do, in all honesty, and how could I not love the person which was by my side for as much as I can remember?

<p data-parsoid="{"dsr":[5415,5883,0,0]}">In retrospect, I guess I should have known something isn’t right when you started getting a cold attitude towards me, last year. It was that time when you had that big fight with your parents, do you remember? I started hating those people the moment they clearly stated their hate towards me. What did I ever to do hurt you? The fact that we got along did not mean anything bad! How could they even say that I was the reason of your anxiety? They understood nothing.

<p data-parsoid="{"dsr":[5885,6498,0,0]}">But alas, there you were, refusing to talk to me for a long while. Your door always locked when I knocked, your face always turning the other way when we met along the corridors. It truly hurt. You disappeared for a while after that, letting me discover the fact that you were hospitalized for the first time in your life. Self inflicted harm, people said. I denied to believe it. But when you returned to classes a month later, everything was not the same anymore. Your drawing notebook wasn’t there anymore, whenever you saw me you didn’t even turn around anymore.. You just acted like you did not even see me.

<p data-parsoid="{"dsr":[6500,6930,0,0]}">I saw you taking medication, then slowly start to regain your smile. It felt good when I saw that you actually gone out to of your shell little by little, hanging out more with different people, even going on a couple of dates. I felt happy, but at the same time sad you weren’t a part of my life anymore. You were all I ever had and the fact that you let me out of your life hit me harder than any bad news I could have ever got.

<p data-parsoid="{"dsr":[6932,7682,0,0]}">Months after, while I was reading yet another novel in my bed, you came. You were whimpering, with your face full of tears, rambling about how you will never trust another guy again, how some random guy cheated you with a sophomore and how you had feelings for the bastard. How you felt misunderstood, how you cut yourself, trying to end it when your parents proposed that you quit school for a while and move in another state with your family, trying to work things out. How you stood there in the hospital for weeks, recovering from your wounds and talking with psychiatrists, trying to figure a way out of it. How you were given a prescription that you followed religiously, and thought it worked. How you stopped, thinking the problems gone away.

<p data-parsoid="{"dsr":[7684,8598,0,0]}">It obviously didn’t. Oh, dear Anna. We spent the whole evening talking, refusing to acknowledge the fact that we a period in which we never talked ever existed. Well, you were the one to talk, I knew you needed it. I stood there silent, listening while you were laying in bed. I felt like a psychologist, listening to the problems of a random client, taking notes. But the pay involved wasn’t composed of cash. All I got was the fact that you were back and it was all that mattered. Soon, you dozed off in my bed and no sound was to be heard outside your breathing. I liked to see you sleep. You were so peaceful, and pretty. It was like any problem you might have had suddenly disappeared, leaving room for your happiness. As I looked upon the room, I saw your notebook. It really made me smile when I saw another sketch of myself on the back page, a much better sketch than you ever did. You hadn’t forgotten me.

<p data-parsoid="{"dsr":[8600,9309,0,0]}">I should leave now.. I will leave this letter on the table for you to see when you awake. The visiting hours are long finished and it’s getting late. Soon, the nurse might come and see I overstayed my welcome, which would maybe not be so odd if you didn’t sleep all day. For when you wake up, I tell you ‘Good morning’. I miss you. Maybe I will see you next time, before I leave. I am afraid of the unknown, and don’t know if I should really go or not. But maybe your parents are right. Maybe I am the reason you can’t get rid of your anxiety and I just keep you away from meeting other people, always sitting in the same place on the bed, reading a book while you draw away. Who knows. It remains to be seen.

<p data-parsoid="{"dsr":[9311,9330,0,0]}">Your friend, Brody”

<p data-parsoid="{"dsr":[9332,9332,0,0]}"> --

<p data-parsoid="{"dsr":[9334,9341,0,0]}">III

<p data-parsoid="{"dsr":[9343,9355,0,0]}">“Dear Anna..

<p data-parsoid="{"dsr":[9357,9853,0,0]}">You never liked the drunk side of me. You always said that whenever I drank I threw rationality out the window, letting out a darker side. Still, here I am, probably more drunk than you would allow me to be, while you are sleeping in you hospital bed. They say you will be able to see the sky again in a few days. That you will be under constant surveillance by your parents and that you will soon feel much better. That everything will go back to normal. I plan on helping on that. It’s decided.

<p data-parsoid="{"dsr":[9855,10676,0,0]}">Tonight, I am leaving you, forever. You shall never hear again of me, for better, for worse. Don’t get me wrong, I thought about this a lot, pondering over each and every possibility that my presence would be beneficial. But then, we grew together. You are the way you are ever since that autumn day, when I sat in the same bench you were sitting in. A quiet girl, only needing her notebook, losing herself in art when everything felt lost. With dread of attention and love for silence and peace. But maybe before you were different. Maybe I made you what you are. And God knows you made me what I am. Every fiber of me knows your name as you are like a sister to me. It may sound weird to others, but all I feel for you is platonic care and love. And I am sure you feel the same, even if we never really talked it out.

<p data-parsoid="{"dsr":[10678,11118,0,0]}">It doesn’t really matter anymore. From tomorrow on, I am gone. Your parents won. Everyone that stood between us won. Since High school ended we don’t need to see each other anymore. You said you wanted to follow an art college anyway, which I don’t belong in anyway. It’s all a matter of time and patience. Oh, Anna, I wish we could turn back time. I would have maybe left you alone, maybe leave you live your life. Am I such a bad person?

<p data-parsoid="{"dsr":[11120,11562,0,0]}">I don’t know what to believe anymore. Can a simple person be responsible over the actions of others? Does the personality of a person need to reflect in the mood and actions of another? I think of myself as a nice person. Always there, always trying to be of help, trying to give the best advice. We both had a pretty rough life, losing close relatives as we were young and naive, not understanding the consequences, the burden it put on us.

<p data-parsoid="{"dsr":[11564,12122,0,0]}">Unimportant matters, in the end. It’s been too many years since it happened to even talk about it, right? To even think that a missed childhood would be the cause of all this. I refuse to believe my life, or yours for that matter was changed so much by such distant, apparently feeble events. I mean sure, they were a big deal at the time, losing a parent isn’t something you easily get over it. But Hell, as time goes by, every moment of your past becomes less and less.. important. It turns into something mundane, just another nightmare lost in the mist.

<p data-parsoid="{"dsr":[12124,12659,0,0]}">Hopefully, you’ll get better. I really wish you will stop hurting yourself, live your life, maybe found your own Art Gallery, where people will see the wonders you created with just a pencil and a simple sheet of paper. That you will outgrow the shy being you are, spread your wings and become the beautiful butterfly you were always meant to be. I trust you. I dread the fact that this might be a mistake, that me leaving will let you without a friend to guide you through it all. But all that’s  too good to be true.. usually isn’t.

<p data-parsoid="{"dsr":[12661,13354,0,0]}">Life moves on, and you reap what you sow. I only wanted you for myself and I created a bond maybe too powerful for anyone else to break. And the apparent bliss of always having that one person near you just hid the fact that no one can live without experiencing the world. Hobbies aren’t enough. We should have done more then just run away from the world. Get out of the grave we slowly dug. I just hope it isn’t too late. I am leaving. Take that as my sacrifice for your sake. I am not what you need, and I need something more than you. This was just an illusion, I’d say. Think of it as a nightmare. As time will go by, this will become mundane. Goodbye my friend, see you on the other side.

<p data-parsoid="{"dsr":[13356,13388,0,0]}">Hope you get better soon. Brody”

<p data-parsoid="{"dsr":[13390,13390,0,0]}"> --

<p data-parsoid="{"dsr":[13392,13398,0,0]}">IV

<p data-parsoid="{"dsr":[13400,13451,0,0]}">“I believe in no God and all I now want is to pray.

<p data-parsoid="{"dsr":[13453,14254,0,0]}">The last time I wrote down anything in this journal is when my oldest child was born. It was my way of relaxing, taking it all in and assessing the situation. Letting out emotions and putting them down on paper made me understand everything better, every single word I wrote chipped away at the stress and guilt building inside of me with each passing day. I always thought that passions are hobbies are something you must follow in your life no matter what. What would be the point of having a so called successful life when you are not enjoying what you do? So when you are in doubt, do what you like best. When you feel lost, lose yourself even more in what makes you happy. So that’s what this journal truly is. An escape mechanism I created when I was a teenager and put away when Brody was born.

<p data-parsoid="{"dsr":[14256,14983,0,0]}">Brody was a good boy. Considerate and smart, always trying to help others, even when it wasn’t the best for himself. I always smile when I remember how I once dropped my wife’s favorite glasses all over the garage floor when we moved and Brody’s worried face when he realized how mad mommy could get. He was ready to take the blame, even if it meant getting grounded. Of course, I didn’t even consider throwing the blame on a little child, so I took it to the mall instead, wandering around for any toy which might catch his attention. Who knew that instead of choosing a game console or a toy car, my son would pick a book. Like father, like son, I thought. Maybe my next child would even like painting, like my dear wife did.

<p data-parsoid="{"dsr":[14985,15708,0,0]}">Years passed, Brody grew, and we indeed had another child. A baby girl. We all were quite ecstatic, and everything seemed to go so well. Brody turned out to be a bit of an antisocial, preferring the comfort of his room instead of going out daily like most kids, aside of his fondness for occasional teen parties where alcohol could be found. We were not very worried as he never seemed to drink enough to get drunk, just having a glass and trying to feel good. He once told me he tried to be a model for his baby sister, so when would have a brother to count on when she got older. This got me relaxed about the future of my family. Everyone was loving to each other and everything worked fine. We had everything we wanted.

<p data-parsoid="{"dsr":[15710,16527,0,0]}">One day though, everything changed for the worse. I remember that the school year was just about to start, so I allowed Brody to go to one last party before returning to being a respectful student. I gave him the car keys and let him on his way, but not before getting a promise that he will return before midnight, so he could get enough sleep before the big day. He gave me an assuring smile before he closed the door behind him, and two minutes later I could hear the car leaving the garage. Then, the midnight came.. But he wasn’t yet home. I waited and waited, and when my patience ran out I started calling some of his friends’ parents, hoping to get a hold of him. I can clearly remember the moment when the bell rang, letting me wonder why he wouldn’t just open the door and if he forgot to pick up his keys.

<p data-parsoid="{"dsr":[16529,17255,0,0]}">It wasn’t him at the door though. Instead, a police officer asked my name and wanted to know if my car matched the model written on his file. I thought my son got in trouble and maybe I had to pay a ticket or something small like that.. It wasn’t the case. My whole world collapsed when I heard the horrific news. Cause of death: struck by moving train while passing a railway track while driving. I was later told that he was under the influence of alcohol. Nothing was fine anymore. I felt dead inside and to be honest, I never was the same since then. No parent should outlive his child, no matter what. What could I tell my little girl? How should I tell a seven-year-old that her dear brother will never be around again?

<p data-parsoid="{"dsr":[17257,17906,0,0]}">We really tried to move on, as affected by the tragedy as we were. Anna took it the hardest. I didn’t believe that the mind of a child can be so unforgiving. I thought that in time, she would forget and move on, when in reality, it all went backwards. We gave her all the attention we could, trying not to repeat any mistakes. Trying to be the parents she needed, give her love and offer her anything she might ever need. She really did grow up to match her mother. But she never forgot Brody. We visited once in a while, leaving flowers at the grave. She sometimes let handwritten notes there for Brody to read, letting him know she didn’t forget.

<p data-parsoid="{"dsr":[17908,18563,0,0]}">We got really worried when she showed signs of anxiety. Rarely going out whenever she wasn’t needed to, never speaking more than she considered enough to make a point and keeping more and more to herself. It was difficult for both me and my wife since we had no idea what to do. We visited doctors, made appointments and got calming responses: “it’s just a phase” or “it’s only normal when kids are at this age” where what we heard everywhere. And we believed it. After all, we could see the signs on TV and the Internet. Kids just preferred to be more introverted these days just to show “who’s boss” to their parents and “be cool in front of everyone”.

<p data-parsoid="{"dsr":[18565,19042,0,0]}">We really thought that this will wear out in time. But as always, we got it wrong yet again. I don’t know exactly when she first started to harm herself but I suspected it was around the start of high school. We would randomly see weird scratches on her hands and first brushed it off as little accidents in PE or related to strolls in the woods. Since we had a little forest behind our house, we sometimes took strolls, letting us at the mercy of the branches and random bugs.

<p data-parsoid="{"dsr":[19044,19757,0,0]}">This was dismissed the first time she seriously cut herself. I found her on the back porch, whimpering, almost unconscious while her hand was cut with a razor she took from my cabinet, leaving a small pool of blood on the wood floor. I rushed her to the hospital and soon she felt better. This time, psychologists didn’t think this was a phase. She said she felt lonely. That we didn’t understand her and that only her brother was there for her. It got us confused. After assessing her mental issues, she was given antidepressants. For a time after that, it all started to get back to normal. She slowly started smiling, and talking more so we let her back to school and back to her high school campus dorm room.

<p data-parsoid="{"dsr":[19759,20339,0,0]}">Months gone by and we thought we got our daughter back. Sure, symptoms were still there but it was better, for sure. Medication helped I guess, even if we had some minor fights over it. She really didn’t like taking the things and I understood her. A week ago though.. it happened again. We got a call from the campus that Anna was found unconscious by a colleague and rushed to the hospital. It seems that at least a month passed since she last took any medications, but we didn’t know if this had anything to do with the fact that our daughter cut her wrists for a second time.

<p data-parsoid="{"dsr":[20341,21278,0,0]}">This morning.. I received a call. I was asked to present myself to the police urgently and that I will get explanations while I got there. When I finally arrived, my poorly stitched up world exploded into bits for a second time. I can’t even try to explain to myself why all of this is happening and what I did wrong. Anna is dead. How can I put this in a way that doesn’t make it hurt? My only child, my only ray of light left on this world is dead. It would seem that she managed to steal a bottle of liquor from a doctor’s office and drink most of it in a nearby bathroom. This all happened under supervision. I left my daughter there to be cured. I left my daughter there to get better. How did this happen? Leaving that aside, my only daughter managed to get dressed and get out on the front door without getting any kind of check and stroll around the city at night. Cause of death.. Hit by a train under the influence of alcohol.

<p data-parsoid="{"dsr":[21280,22020,0,0]}">They suspected a second person might have been involved. A certain fellow, they said, left her some kind of letters in her room. Three letters, explaining in detail the relationship between her and him. A certain.. Brody. A strange coincidence, sure, but the details didn’t fit. She had no friend named Brody, I knew no person with that name other than my own.. My own son. My heart sank as I realized how things went. I was allowed to read the letters, word by word, smearing them with tears and trying to understand why everything happened the way it did. They let me take her notebook home, as it wasn’t important to the investigation. It was filled with drawings, showing a wide array of emotions.. Boy, could she draw self portraits..” <ac_metadata title="Dear Anna"> </ac_metadata>