I’m assuming letters on here are supposed to be specific to a certain topic, but I figure that you won’t mind if I write a big one, saying everything I’m thinking.
First of all, let’s get acquainted: my name’s Emma, I’m a girl that’s too old for barbies and too young for marriage, and these are all the snippets of ideas and thoughts that are crowding my brain at this very moment:
For the first years of my life, I always completely and wholeheartedly believed in true love. My experiences with it had proved that love was always true: Disney movies and my parents, who seemed to be very much in love. Then, suddenly, my parents decided to go into counseling. It was strange and confusing to entertain the idea that my parents could possibly not love each other. Then, the day after Christmas, my parents sat me and my sisters down and told us they planned on getting a divorce.
My world collapsed around me. The two people who had made me believe in love had fallen out of it. How am I supposed to believe the things Disney and books and movies have told me about love when the two closest people in my life couldn’t keep their marriage together?
And it doesn’t help that no boy has ever shown remote interest in me.
Actually, that’s wrong. Boys have shown interest, they’ve just never acted on it. I’m not cruel, dumb, jealous, or particularly ugly; although I am clumsy, mature, rather awkward, and I like to speak my mind.
But I’m not unloveable, am I?
For awhile, I did think I was unlovable: not just with boys, but with people in general. And I felt this way for five years: from third grade until eighth grade, when I found great friends and changed physically and emotionally.
But before then, I was tormented for vague reasons: When I asked my bullies why they were so mean to me, all they seemed to be able to come up with was that I was fat, weird, and a crybaby. Those words haunted me then. They haunt me today, sometimes.
But now I’ve grown taller and thinner, and I’ve gotten mature enough where I don’t cry, and suddenly all those people who hated me before are trying to be best friends with me. It’s as if they totally forgot that they almost made me suicidal by the age of ten.
I hope that one day I’ll be able to figure all of this out: I’ll have an amazing life, a great career and friends, and yes, maybe even great booze and sex (a girl’s got to have some fun once in a while, right?) I’ll live in an apartment and be a best-selling author. Maybe I’ll be in love, or enjoying single life. Eventually I’ll have a family, and grow to be a wise, ripe old age.
But for now, I’m a confused teenager trying to find her way in the world. I’m scared, nervous, skeptical, and moody, but I’m also excited, optimistic, and looking forward to what I become.
Thanks for listening.