The Original Fake Audrey.

A week ago I was walking the exact steps and solid ground as I always did. I experienced the best part of a journey. There were two steps before the conclusion: a time capsule and a road trip. The reason why I return to my point of view a week ago as I stood on a stage in the gymnasium with nothing but the spot light as I tried poured out who I was to a piece of paper…well, I wasn’t as blunt as I usually am when I gave the time capsule my first shot.

The time capsule was speaking the truth proudly with no hints of shame, but it seems I didn’t comprehend that a week ago. At that moment I didn’t even believe I’d be gone. Now I see that everyone has departed….and though they seem to have already forgotten me by the detail that they haven’t any time to make a effortless phone call….I miss them. I still have made the effort to start over with the new letter to me in 20 years. Enjoy….

Dear Katie,

            Well, now here comes the part I’m ashamed of…I know that I haven’t completely let it go because I don’t want to proceed like it never happened but it did. For once I was the most problematic person in the classroom, I beat the class clown who went to jail, and I beat the disgustingly skinny girl who was obviously bulimic. Because I was a bulimic cutter and I was suicidal.  It’s never something to be proud of I guess. 20 Years from today I wish to hear this…

            On the bus ride to the trip, where you nearly puked, you stared out of the window and thought about what you should have wrote, well here is the second shot. I hope you are a hard working journalist but if you don’t turn out to be what you always wanted I just hope you’re in high spirits. During the first 13 years of your life, you barely lived…you were afraid of being yourself and at this point you’re working on it. Your friends haven’t called by the way. They must have not grown as much as you have. On the trip you met a famous person, went on a rollercoaster people swore you wouldn’t ride on, and you realized the difference between a friend and a slut. You wanted befriend the girls that tried to sport a bikini at an amusement park when you became friends with your unsocial but polite old friend from the sixth grade. She cared when you felt unwell, the others boasted around there undeveloped cleavage and ignored you but swore they would miss you when you left. Yeah they were liars for your own pathetic “sensitive” feelings but little did they know you didn’t care. Because you were a much bigger person and as they thought they were the hottest shit alive you gossiped with mothers who had conversed to boys who replied that they hated a female who attempted way too hard to steal some sort of attention from them when they had too many precious hours to admire the good girls like us. Just then I stood realizing who my real friends were in just a flash of a second. You were intelligent and that same week you marked it a good two months minus cutting. Yeah to the society I was just apart of that group at school they all called the “nobodies” but I was more than anyone who would ever step foot in my classroom. PS. Please don’t hate the 13 year old me. I don’t take rejection easily. Remember the biggest fit of rejection made by his truly…? Oh yeah your first heart break. How is that forgettable? It was the sharpest pain you experienced…you know….before the slip of the razor on your leg…oh wait that was on purpose considering the fact that it took me forever to get out of the bathroom as my leg stayed bleeding. Yeah, there are memories that will remain permanent in that thin skull of yours. Many events I have to be remaining angry at myself to actually write. Like the foolish and selfish thoughts going though your mind as you fixed yourself to the bathroom cabinet to achieve the coldest most unforgivable curse towards yourself. To disappear, right? That was your dream? And remember that nightmare you had where you stared at yourself in the mirror, your pale skin shining from the sunlight coming from the open window nearest to you…you stood in your bedroom, afraid once again. Then the reflection of the mirror became real, your reflection in the mirror was no longer copying what you did and holding sobs like a chicken. It was angry, it wanted revenge. It was your other half, annoyed by you. The reflection glared and leaped at you, strangled you then forced you to bleed. You cried and ran away throwing objects as your reflection dodged them powerfully. It chased you through your empty house; all the windows and doors seemed to be opened no matter how sure you were that you closed them. She screamed to let her frustration out as you hid beside the bed crouching. She grabbed you by your slightly damaged hair and handed you something. Pills…for me? I shouldn’t have. I shook my head and told myself (literally) that I couldn’t go though with it. My emotional side couldn’t go though the pain of suicide. My troubled side thought ahead…I was her; there was no running when your angry side over powers your innocent one. The reflection was now in control of your actions, she was livid and this girl didn’t mind the selfishness or hurt she would cause anyone. She was evil. What a nightmare to let her take over…. And now that nightmare was about to become reality. You weren’t dreaming anymore. But as a wave of hope and wind opened the door….maybe it was never locked….maybe good could regain power from evil. I stared in disbelief as I looked in the mirror and only saw my reflection the day after. Funny, right? Yeah…hilarious or just about everything you didn’t want to admit. Seriously, guess who’s strong enough to finally wake up and keep denial out of her way….13 year old me and if you don’t believe it check the calendar again. 2 months and a week….

            A week ago I passed up the opportunity to write this without shame but now that I know it’s over and feel nothing but happiness. Since the end was perfect and I remain regretless. My angry bitchy side as yet to pay me a visit or call me also….what a bitch…. (Hence the name I guess) Well, I hope everything is alright for 33 year old me…it’s been an unfortunate sequence of depressing moments, glad I could share it with you. Can’t wait to feel my life without this burden, you’ve probably felt it.

                                                                         Sincerely,

                                                                                    Katie

Most of you wouldn’t read until the end I’m guessing, but I guess that’s what makes you true readers of mine if you’re reading this right now. This was for you people too, it would do me great pleasure to announce my pain to others also. It’s always easier to tell strangers your secrets anyways. Right?