One: Read this Letter When You're Scared

   I'm a horrid person. These words than through my mind, over and over, as if I'd set them on repeat, like some song I enjoyed. You're a, enter your choice of degrading adjective that was synonymous with awful, terrible, no good, or very bad, person. I thought these thoughts for so long, since I was a teenager? A child? I forgot what feeling confident, or even plain alright, with myself felt like.
   The running made it worse. I was scared- I didn't know what I was suppose to do in a situation like this...
   I am not justifying what I did, nor do I expect you to fully comprehend the gravity of the situation, partly because you've had a good life, one that allows nativity, one that didn't force you to have to grow up quickly.
   Running, hiding, call it what you wish, the voice urged me to. The voice, your conscious, perhaps, the voice that told me I was worthless, that everyone hated me, that I was used, I was garbage, and I needed to run or they'd find me, they'd hurt me. I couldn't tell anyone, I was stupid, everyone hates stupid people. This is what the voice told me, dictating what I did, telling me to leave.
   I hitchhiked. Cabs had cameras, cabbies might have to keep records, I didn't know the specifics, but the voice told me not to trust cab services, told me that they would watch me through the cameras, they'd know where I was going, they'd hurt me. I didn't have money, even if the voices had told me to trust taxis, but I had my backpack, the backpack with the Polaroid camera, the stationary, the pens, the toothbrush, the toothpaste, a hairbrush, and feminine products.
   I told the people who let me travel with them to drop me off wherever- I didn't care, the voice said to go away, so I did, I satisfied them. When I was traveling, the voice told me that I was only somewhat dumb, I wasn't an idiot, an idiot wouldn't have ran, but I did.
   I was dropped off a few miles away from some small New England town, Hidden Summers, Hanson Springs- I didn't know, by the edge of the woods. The spot was quiet, there was hardly any traffic and I knew from the over talkative driver that the town was sparsely populated, with only a few thousand people, mostly it was where the rich went to summer. She asked me what my name is, the voice sad it was now Elaine Witherslyn... If you tell them your real name, they'll find you.
   When you are scared you do irrational things or, in my case, when you're scared you listen to the voices in your head. Do not run away from your problems. It seems like a difficult thing to do and I am not the best role model, if anything I'm a horrifyingly bad role model who's a hypocrite. Stay strong. I know you can. I know you're better than me.

   I was meandering through the woods, when I came upon a cabin. I peeked through the windows, it was unfurnished, seemingly abandoned. Night was falling, I couldn't keep wandering. The voices told me to break the window, so I did. I was stupid, they were always right, always stronger than me.

   Grimy shower, old stove, barely working fridge, flickering bulbs hanging from a wire from the ceiling, but there was a roof. Oddly enough it had power, electricity, water. I placed my backpack on the ground, tired, laid down on the ground, squeezing my eyes shut, hoped for sleep. Sleep for tonight or sleep for eternity, I was indifferent; I needed to be taken out of the world for at least a few hours, maybe longer... Then it was maybe longer.
   Scared results in one of two things, you facing your fears or you running away. You don't have to run away physically, you can ignore the fears, the scariness, that's just as bad.
   I'm sure you're laughing.
   Just as bad? If I'd mentally run away, I'd still be there.
   Would you even want me there? The voice says no. I don't know. I don't feel anything. I'm dull. I didn't even really feel scared... Maybe you could call me an emotional void, a black hole. The voices told me how to twist my face, how to look when I wanted to convey a particular feeling.
  What's it like to feel hope?
  I want to feel hope.
  Hope...
  Such an odd word. I want to feel hope, hope that you'd want me there, even in the emotionally withdrawn state... They say the first part of healing is recognizing the problem and I know I don't feel normal, but for me this is normal.
   I want to feel regret. Feel scared. Feel something. When you feel things, just know even when things are bad, you still feel things. Feeling things are good right? I cannot even feel scared that I'm screwed up.
   I don't know why I'm writing to you. I thought I knew, but the voice... Voices? I cannot tell how many, it feels like only one, well two, my thoughts and the voice dictating my thoughts, but somethings I think it is more. I don't know what to say. Perhaps I shall write more? Regardless, I have to end this letter.

With Love,
   Elaine Witherslyn

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