Letter to Someone

November 3, 2007          

Dear Friend,
         I’m writing to you because I have no one else to run to, I just thought that you would listen, but maybe I was wrong, and maybe you don’t want to read any of this, so if you really don’t want to, just don’t. You don’t need to; I’ll still believe you read it.
         It all started when, after trying to persuade my parents to do something fun the whole evening, I asked my mom what we’d do on the New Year’s Eve.
         Maybe she actually thinks I forgot, maybe she forgot, but I do know she promised me last year that this year it would be different. She saw how sad I was at New Year’s Eve last year, I cried a lot and stayed up until midnight in front of my computer screen, and then I slept. She promised me it would be different, she promised we would do something, anything.
         I just wish we could be a family again. I miss it so terribly. It seems like we’re a bunch of strangers put in together in the same house, I don’t know anything about them, they don’t anything about me, and we never do anything pleasant together, there is no interaction. I miss sitting around a table and playing a board game, or even when the light is out, play stupid games with a lantern. I miss Easter being fun, and Christmas not being just another dinner that looks the same. I miss Chrismukka at my grandmothers house, and I miss them being part of my life.
         I guess they are a little bit late to catch up to my changing, I mean, I grew up a lot since the last time we had a real talk. Actually, I can’t remember when the four of us sat down and just talked about what we think or feel. Like, when we are in the car, or having the usual Sunday lunch, we don’t talk, or if we do, it’s about the news, never about us. When we travel, there is no fun in the family. There is pretty much no space left for feelings and thoughts.
         I don’t trust them enough to tell my thoughts, though. Otherwise I wouldn’t be typing this down. I guess I dug in my life in books and computer, I write but I don’t talk, I wished that would change, because when I write it means I’m thinking too fast to keep it on my head.
         Sometimes one of them will come to me and ask me something, like if I have a crush on some guy, but I always answer no, because they wouldn’t understand, they’d make fun out of me. Sometimes I start crying because of what I think, and most of the times they don’t care enough to ask me what’s wrong, or they don’t ask it in the right way. I wished I had a boyfriend, and then I’d have someone to talk to, and someone to spend New Year’s Eve with.
         I wouldn’t mind being there with his family instead of mine, we never do anything. We used to go see the fireworks, but then they got tired of it, but they didn’t ask me what I felt or thought. Last year when they decided not to leave the house, they didn’t ask me if I was ok about it. It went all trough the hours, my mom and sister playing cards, my dad doing whatever, and me in front of my computer, talking to a friend. That’s not the way it’s supposed to be. We’re supposed to do stuff, talk, cheer, play around, do anything but do nothing. But most of all, we’re supposed to be together and to enjoy it.
         But family time has not been enjoyable lately; it’s mostly talking nonsense, useless stuff, or complaining. Yeah, it’s all about complaining. There is always something to complain about. Too much laundry, too much books on the table, too much noise, or too many requests, maybe the house is too messy, or maybe the dishes are not done. It doesn’t matter, complaints is what I hear the most when I’m at home.
         I guess they forgot I’m a teenager, I guess they forgot I’m growing up. Maybe I’ve been able to take things by myself pretty well my whole life, but now I can’t. I need them to be there for me. But yet again I don’t trust them enough even to show them this.
         Today I tried to bring three of us together, but it was pretty useless, except that maybe two out of three ain’t that bad. Still, I miss my dad playing with me. Like on those old photographs, me and him in the pool, I guess that nowadays he would never do something like that. Or even playing War with my sister and I… a scene never to be seen again. Now it is just movies. I do like movies, but there is no interaction, there is just I and the TV, and he and the TV, no ‘us’. I miss being ‘us’.
         It’s just that I think I grew apart from them… I feel like I don’t fit in here anymore. I don’t know their favourite colours or their favourite jam flavour, I don’t even know if they like jam. And they don’t know much about me either; I think that if they tried taking a test on me they would fail. And I don’t think it can be helped… anyway, I just needed to pour this down on paper (even if it’s virtual paper) so I could start to think slower and try to feel better, because I’m not sad, I’m just frustrated, because she said we will do nothing again on New Year’s Eve, and I don’t want to spend it alone ever again.
         Sorry for disturbing you with my problems, because they’re not interesting, a list of problems is never interesting, but I did need someone to tell this stuff to.

Love Always,
Brooke