Wild: Youth

"We lost the excuse of youth at 18."

Somebody said that to me once, and it stung. It stung for the situation much more than the content, but there it is.

Are you insane?

We may not be children at 18, but we are still young. We make mistakes and we learn from them, because we are young. It isn't some magical transformation between 17 and 18; we don't suddenly become mature and responsible adults. It is a process, tailored to the experiences and inner workings of the individual in question.

So, for example, ignoring a person when they're trying to apologize to you, because they've recognized that they have a very serious problem and need to work through it--insulting that person--because you think you're mature... doesn't help fucking shit.

I tried to make amends and I watched you spit on me, I heard what you said about me, too, from the people that were once our friends and are now nervous around me. I had so much growing up to do, and I was miserable--but I didn't see it as a choice. It was who I was and what I was, it was why I existed and it was beautiful.

Katie wasn't the only person to have my Kingdom laid at her feet. I loved and treasured you, and, when I tried to tell you the truth--when I worked out what the truth was, when I had every intention of making amends for what I had done, and then understood to be wrong--you cut me bitterly.

You're right, Liz. You didn't deserve to be thrown into the sea of lies I made to keep myself sane, and feel important, and beautiful, and not alone anymore. You're right--you didn't deserve that. You perceived it as a lie, and you most certainly did not deserve to be lied to. I understand what I did was wrong, and my apologies, every one, have been sincere.



But I didn't deserve to be hurt by you for having severe, psychological issues and permanent emotional scars from four years of abuse in that place--that school--that you never even saw. Thank God. I wouldn't want you to have done what I did, Liz. I spent four years trying to fit in and be right, and I'd earned a stigma that I couldn't get rid of.

I was too busy drowning in magic and writing stories and singing old songs to realize you were in love with me, even though it was for a brief shadow of a moment, a passing hour on the clock of time--and by then I'd realized how much being around me could hurt you. I was such a fucking mess back then, I knew that much, if I didn't know much else, if I didn't know why.


The worst part of it--my "youth", that you say ended at 18--is that I will never have my apologies accepted by you. I keep trying to explain it to you, but I don't think you care. You don't care because you thought I was using you, taking advantage of you, lying to you to hurt and deceive. You don't understand that this time, for the first time, when I said I was different--I meant it. I worked so hard to mean it, to change, to accept and be different--normal--but still magic. I've worked so hard, for people like you, the people who kept me away from the edge of the knife...


and you will never know.


Maybe forgiveness doesn't come easily to you. I know how angry your wild heart was, once, long ago. It does to me. No matter what you tell me, or how you choose, justifiably, to hurt me now, I will, and do, love you, Elizabeth. You were my friend. I understand that I compromised that friendship to save myself. I understand that you would've handled it differently, normally and maturely, right.

I didn't. I can't undo that. I can apologize to you until I'm blue in the face, I can show you that it was very painful to learn that understanding what I did was wrong, spend my life making amends to you... but no more. I can only offer you what you will accept... and you will take nothing. I've tried three times now--once for each count--so I reckon that I won't ever hear from you again.

I've started to write countless messages and letters in my head, maybe send you a gift, like the old Payton would've. The old Payton wouldn't have left you alone, because I love you endlessly. Because I trust and respect you as a young woman, and you were the best and first companion of my heart.

Now I know that I can still love you, and you don't owe me a single damn word. You don't owe me anything, you don't have to accept what I offer--even if I do want you to. I want you to realize that I was telling the truth this time, and let me be a friend to you like you were to me once. I want to repay you.




I don't think you'll let me, so I cannot make it right.



















I hope, so sorely it hurts me, (I'm still a dramatic little bitch, haven't quite grown out of that yet), that I am wrong, Elizabeth Wood. I hope you can forgive me one day. I want you to know, that if you ever need me--for anything--I'm always going to be right here. I'm never going to stop feeling as a friend would to do you, as a sister would--even an estranged one.














I love you, Elizabeth Wood.

Good-bye, Elizabeth Wood.




























I'm sorry.