So my birthday's next week and I thought I'd invite you all
though you aren't part of my life anymore because there is
no one else now that I trust enough to make anything about
it anything like important. I was never the kind of friend
that you all would invite to your parties, or ask to come
over and hang out after school, or tell your secrets to
first hand; but I would have done all that and more with
each and everyone of you if I could have; not because you
treated me as if I were normal; you didn't. Not because you
always included me, because you didn't. Not because I expect
you to come when you get this, because really I don't. It's
because to you, I was human. I was real, and visible, and
tangible, and sometimes you worked with me on homework. It's
because a year ago you decorated my locker with Christmas
Wrapping Paper and wrote a note on it, and I knew that you
cared about me; really, really cared about whether I lived
or died and whether or not I was happy. And because I could
make some of you laugh, and because even though no one saw
me as one of you, I knew I was part of that group that sang
to people on their birthdays while the cafeteria groaned and
held their ears. I was a person, a real person, even if I
was as invisible next to you as a flashlight aimed at the
sun.
And it's all over now, leaving me so dark and empty inside
because I know that I was lucky to find that and I'll never
have that back. I have friends now, of course, I make
friends easily. But I'm not the kind of friend that they
like to hang out with either. There's a group in my gym
class that claims to accept me, but I know they don't really
because there's no room for me at their cafeteria table, and
they don't have the long distance as an excuse to leave me
out when they throw parties or meet after school. And that
one girl from karate that I thought the world of when school
began, who I thought I could finally trust with all this?
Oh, we're still friends. But that's so confusing, because
she's so apathetic that she doesn't care about me either
way, so how is that friendship? If I never saw her again, if
I HATED her, perhaps if I died... I can't see it in her to
care all that much. And at least those of you guys in
orchestra would have made sure we were in the same room
during tour, even if you never noticed how mean some of the
other first violins were to me since I hadn't been playing
since I was three and couldn't fit their definition of
'right'. I don't fit ANYONE'S definition of 'right', not
even my own, really. But that's what happens when your world
is torn to pieces again every three years or so and all you
want to do is a)get a driver's liscence b)make some friends
c)learn to dance, so I can be graceful and good enough and
part of that magic that I've tried for years to find, but
lost somewhere and d)go somewhere and SCREAM until I find my
heart again.
But I feel so selfish because all I worry about is what's
wrong with me. Shouldn't I think more about all those people
 who have it worse? Yes, I'm lonely and broken; yes I'm
completely dysfunctional, but at least I can write about it
disguised as poetry. At least I can draw it, and play it,
and sing it, and wish that I could dance it though I know
dancing for me is impossible. And I've gotten good over the
years at hiding the fact that I can't function, that I'm a
FREAK who's barely managing to survive the agony of life
with all it's bright lights and loud sounds and people
touching me, people who will hurt me if they know that I'm
different, and people who hurt me because they don't know
that you MUST NOT TOUCH MY HAIR, please don't. At least I
don't have to hurt myself to escape the pain, because I have
my fair share of outlets. And at least I have all of you,
though you really don't know that mean all that to me, since
I never told you; even though I wanted to cry about in on
one of your shoulders, any one of you, from the day I woke
up and knew the medical terms for this. But I was far too
afraid; I was already different enough.
And I'm still too afraid to tell you these things, to say
them to anyone but the strangers who read my poems on
obscure websites or stumble over the stories I write and
take a while to examine them. I can't tell you though I wish
I could with all my heart, because one day I'll have to
start talking about this and I'd rather it be with one of
the people I trust most. Maybe at the party, when you're
waiting for rides (or getting out your car keys, those who
can drive already), I'll be brave enough to say a little
bit. Just a little. Maybe. But for now I can't say all that,
so here begins the actual message that you can read...

What: My Party
When: Friday at 6-midnight
Where: My House
In Case of Pet Allergies: We have a dog, a rabbit, and my
little brother

Hope you can make it; I've missed ya'll and I'm dying to see
you. You don't have to bring a present, just come and we'll
hang out and eat pizza and maybe watch a movie. Please call
or email me if you're comming; if you don't, I'll have to
assume that you aren't.

That would be the present, you see, in this last thought
that you can't read, if for one night I could almost be
normal; inviting my friends over after school to hang out
and eat and watch movies like you all used to do and talk
about for weeks afterward and somehow never caught on that
it hurt some people listening. But just this once, I hope
you'll come; Sixteen is supposed to be special. Please,
please come and be my friends again for just one night.