First off, I'm going to shake my hand and give myself a medal. Maybe make a podium and stand on a conveniently labeled section of 50. This is my fiftieth post. It's a slight achievement. The most posts I've ever had on a blogger account, let alone another type.
Now, to the matters that matter.
I have a few of these people on my list, and this post could be Grim Tuesday. But seeing as it's someone, rather than the person most obvious, most prominent, then I'll talk about a lovely girl I know who I met through the same organisation as I met my boyfriend.
First, maybe I'll explain a little about this organisation. It runs camps and days out for underprivileged kids, or kids who have been influenced by unfortunate circumstances. I'm eligible because of my older sister, and because of what happened with my family and my father. I'm not going to discuss why others are there, because I feel that's a private matter.
There's one girl there who I met on one of my first camps. I started three years ago. We kind of fell into friendship. Sometimes I can't help but listen to people when they talk. This was especially the case a few years ago. I was a very quiet, very shy person. I've kind of lost that part of my personality, which is a shame. I miss it.
I listened when this girl spoke. She was the happiest person I'd actually seen, but also the saddest in a way. We ended up in different dorms. There were two bunk beds in the dorm. My sister and I were on the bottom bunks; I refused to leave my sisters side. I can be incredibly protective of her. Sometimes I'm nowhere near enough.
But we were on the bottom bunk, and on the top was a girl who'd boasted of having an abortion and showed us her scar; which I found out later was from an accident from falling off a swing when she was three- or was it being beaten up by her father? I took an instant dislike to her, whatever and wherever her scar was from. Two of them had to be a lie, and I'd heard her say a different thing to three different people within the first two days. Did I mention she was fourteen?
Also sharing the bunk was a girl who I found out later was my friends cousin.
The camps typically last three nights. The first two nights I led awake listening to the people above chatting and laughing, while wanting to get to sleep at 12AM, wanting the day to come, wanting them to shut up so Danica could sleep.
The third night a third girl came in. The last night a few rules are allowed to be broken. We can stay up later, we can write warm fuzzies, we can have a laugh with the leaders after lights out.
But this third girl came in, and I recognised her as the sadly happy girl from before. This time, I made an effort to join in the conversation, because I might feel accepted and not very awkward.I don't know how well it worked, seeing as eventually both the abortion girl and the cousin upped and left for another dorm. She clambered into her cousins bed and we spoke about anything and everything for hours. I found out why she was so happily sad, and that she was, and is, a lovely person. Someone I'd sacrifice a lot for.
We don't speak that much, but I'm hoping, this holidays, I will have the chance to catch up with her in between camps like we've been planning since that first one.
She's the friend whose birthday I missed out on. She doesn't deserve me missing out on anything else.
Thanks for reading.