How are you feeling?
It was late evening, just after dinner. Anastasia followed the mass of students going into the upper levels, but instead of going with her house mates to the Ravenclaw tower, she went up west, up to the Owlery. Inside her bag, two letters. One she should send, but probably won't. One she shouldn’t send, but probably will. Peter had asked how she was doing, or, as he had written it “Please tell me how you are feeling, even if it’s bad. Especially if it’s bad. I know you are not doing good and I will know if you lie in your reply”
And so, the girl had passed hours in front of a sheet of paper, trying to figure out how she was feeling. Years of barely letting anything out, years of trying to repress her grief because of the guilt, years of knowing she was sad without doing anything about it, years of talking to basically no one. But Anastasia wasn’t stupid, she knew that bottling up wasn’t a good habit to keep, especially in a grade like fifth year, with the stress that the OWLS would bring soon enough. She knew her cousin was doing a good thing by asking her that question, but she didn’t know how to unbottle.
Up in the Owlery, she sat down and took out a folded piece of paper from her bag. The letter she should send. The letter she cried over, the one she took nights to write. More than a letter about how she was doing, this was some kind of reflection of her mind, and the perfectionist that she was had perfected every word until it was something that looked like her. But what looked like her anymore?
“Dear Peter,
You know that it is going to be hard for me to write this letter, but I appreciate you asking that way rather than face to face. I have been thinking about what to say for days now, drafting my words to make sure they make sense to you. Where should I start?
The answer seems pretty obvious, my first year in Hogwarts, Father’s death. You know I blamed myself for it, you know I blame myself for Mother’s sadness and loneliness. She was already somewhat disappointed that I didn’t get into Slytherin, and me causing the love of her life’s death obviously didn’t help. That’s when I started withdrawing on myself. You know it, you saw it. I talked less, slept less, as you said, something in my eyes had changed. I was sad, grieving my dad but I thought I wasn’t allowed to be sad since it was my fault.
Then life happened and now I’m in fifth year. Am I still sad all the time? Yes. Am I still grieving? Yes. Am I still blaming myself? Less, but still yes. I guess nothing really changed because I haven’t given myself time to process it. I just try to keep my grief in the back of my mind during the day, and not let it get too strong at night. I like to say I manage but I don’t think I actually do.
Maybe I’m purposefully staying sad in a way of punishing myself for being the cause of my Father’s death. Rationally, I know it is not my fault. He chose to tell me, he didn’t have to bring the subject up. I know he knew what he was doing but you know how I feel about it, if I hadn’t asked those questions, he would still be alive (well, as alive as vampires are assumed to be). I don’t know what else to tell you Peter, my father is dead, my mother is sad, I’m sad and was blaming myself. I am now less blaming myself than before.
I hope this is a good enough answer for you, my dear cousin,
Anastasia”
The other paper was smaller, only a few words were written on it, a simple “Don’t worry about me”.
As Anastasia made her way back downstairs, she already started to regret sending the honest letter to Peter. It was the answer he had asked for, but she wasn’t sure if she was ready to give it to him.
And so, the girl had passed hours in front of a sheet of paper, trying to figure out how she was feeling. Years of barely letting anything out, years of trying to repress her grief because of the guilt, years of knowing she was sad without doing anything about it, years of talking to basically no one. But Anastasia wasn’t stupid, she knew that bottling up wasn’t a good habit to keep, especially in a grade like fifth year, with the stress that the OWLS would bring soon enough. She knew her cousin was doing a good thing by asking her that question, but she didn’t know how to unbottle.
Up in the Owlery, she sat down and took out a folded piece of paper from her bag. The letter she should send. The letter she cried over, the one she took nights to write. More than a letter about how she was doing, this was some kind of reflection of her mind, and the perfectionist that she was had perfected every word until it was something that looked like her. But what looked like her anymore?
“Dear Peter,
You know that it is going to be hard for me to write this letter, but I appreciate you asking that way rather than face to face. I have been thinking about what to say for days now, drafting my words to make sure they make sense to you. Where should I start?
The answer seems pretty obvious, my first year in Hogwarts, Father’s death. You know I blamed myself for it, you know I blame myself for Mother’s sadness and loneliness. She was already somewhat disappointed that I didn’t get into Slytherin, and me causing the love of her life’s death obviously didn’t help. That’s when I started withdrawing on myself. You know it, you saw it. I talked less, slept less, as you said, something in my eyes had changed. I was sad, grieving my dad but I thought I wasn’t allowed to be sad since it was my fault.
Then life happened and now I’m in fifth year. Am I still sad all the time? Yes. Am I still grieving? Yes. Am I still blaming myself? Less, but still yes. I guess nothing really changed because I haven’t given myself time to process it. I just try to keep my grief in the back of my mind during the day, and not let it get too strong at night. I like to say I manage but I don’t think I actually do.
Maybe I’m purposefully staying sad in a way of punishing myself for being the cause of my Father’s death. Rationally, I know it is not my fault. He chose to tell me, he didn’t have to bring the subject up. I know he knew what he was doing but you know how I feel about it, if I hadn’t asked those questions, he would still be alive (well, as alive as vampires are assumed to be). I don’t know what else to tell you Peter, my father is dead, my mother is sad, I’m sad and was blaming myself. I am now less blaming myself than before.
I hope this is a good enough answer for you, my dear cousin,
Anastasia”
The other paper was smaller, only a few words were written on it, a simple “Don’t worry about me”.
As Anastasia made her way back downstairs, she already started to regret sending the honest letter to Peter. It was the answer he had asked for, but she wasn’t sure if she was ready to give it to him.
| Anastasia Blackwood-Varney Mors irrumat omnia |