“I’m sorry Anna” The warmth in his voice assures me that he really is sorry. The way he looks at me makes me burst into tears. Why does everyone keep looking at me this way? This sympathetic, ‘Look-at-how-messes-up-your-life-is’ look.

I turn away from him and gather my books . It sounds stupid, but I don’t want people to feel sorry for me. I don’t want their smiles. I don’t want their hugs. I don’t want to eat their prepared meals. I don’t want to listen to lectures. I don’t want to speak a word to them. I don’t care if they are people from our church, from my school or from my neighborhood. I don’t want them to approach me in anyway. I most certainly do not want my friends to look at me differently. To talk to me differently. To say “sorry” or “I understand”. When they say those things I build hatred. I build hatred toward the whole situation. But at the same time my sadness overflows. I have the pain of ten people combined and can’t imagine unloading it to anyone. I just want everyone to go back to ignoring me.

Why can’t anyone accept that I want to be alone? Why can’t anyone understand that I do not want to express my life openly? Why do people only notice others when tragedies arise or people die? Does a normal person have to die before ever being honored or acknowledged? Do people really care?

I feel as if pain is weighing me down. Misfortunes after misfortune keep piling on. I’m beginning to just pass through life, knowing that life is going on, but just not reacting to it anymore. If someone were to ask what today’s date was, I would say the date it happened. The day my life was no longer easy. The day my family changed. Or at least what was left of it.

I flash back in to what is happening. Oh yeah. My friend just said he’s sorry. Of course. I wipe my tears and give the answer I have been giving everyone.
“I’m fine” I manage to say.
Just as quickly as I said I’m fine, he says:” No really. How are you feeling? What can I do for you?

I stare at him and convince myself that he actually just said what I thought he just said. No one has ever said that to me throughout this whole situation. He leans over and takes my school books from my hands. Suddenly I feel a load lighter and I’m stand up straight. I wondered if the same thing could happen on the inside. If I dump a load on my friend and just say how I feel, will my burden be lighter?

I look him dead in the eye and say: “sad. I feel very sad and hurt.” Tears well up in my eyes, as he pulls me in for a hug. A passionate hug. A hug that means something to me.

At my locker I weep in the arms of a friend and although I still may feel saddened, I don’t have to go through anything alone.