Fuck You, Ana.
Two years ago, in the summer of 2019, an 11-year-old girl in my town hung herself. Two years ago, about two weeks after the incident, I got pretty close to following in that little girl's footsteps. The keyword being, close.
Her name was not Ana, but it's close as I am going to say because I refuse to say her name. When I learned she was gone, it was my mother that told me. She didn't sugarcoat anything or try to let the news out gently in any way shape or form, she just said: "Ana hung herself last night." and walked out. It has always bothered me how my mother didn't even try to sound upset, she told me a mentally destructive statement like that is if she was telling me I might need to grab a jacket before I left. I honestly wish I had the right to be mad at her for this, but I don't cause I reacted as if she just told me to grab a jacket.
All I said was "Okay.". I showed no emotion at all as if nothing even fazed me about it. How fucked up is that? A child is told coldly how one of their best friends just hung herself and they don't even react. As an 11-year-old girl, I guess maybe it was because I didn't believe it. How can you just believe that someone who was just there, is now gone?
I reacted like a sociopath for a full day, but then I couldn't stop crying for the next two weeks after that because I think I realized that I woke up again and Ana was still dead. It hit even harder when a few more nights after that I finally got around to what little miss Ana wrote in my yearbook. I still have never felt as guilty for anything I have done in my life as how I felt reading, "Hope you had a great last year! <3Ana", while getting ready to go into my second year of middle school.
I watched the entire small town I live in release balloons in the air wear obnoxious shades of purple and cry for someone they didn't know a single thing about. I'm not didn't do those things as well, nor am I going to walk around like I know some truth about a dead girl that no one else knows. If I did that I'd be a liar.
Anyways, it's cold as shit out here, and all these cemetery cats are staring at me like I'm chopped liver. I don't even know why I felt the need to talk about you to your grave like this in the first place. Oh, and before I leave, fuck you, Ana.
Fuck you for making me feel like I was supposed to be your saving grace or some shit like that when you know damn well I'm not cut out for that shit.