It is March 4, 1918. I have been alone in my house for so long now. I have no way of getting around town or buying food. I am too young to drive, but not too young not to know what is going on with the world around me. My Aunt is having troubles coping with everything going on in her life. She visits every now and then. She supplies me with the food and necessities that I need to survive. All I do from day to day is sit here thinking and reading every book I have ever owned. I might as well tell you why I am all alone at the age of nine. My parents are both involved with World War I. My Father is fighting as we speak. My Mother is nursing injured soldiers as we speak. My Brother, well, he is at the cemetery down the street from our house. He died at birth. The Doctor’s still have no explanation as to why he died. If you could diagnose someone with severe loneliness, I would be the first victim.
It is not easy being all alone at the age of nine. I should be out playing with the neighborhood kids. I should be watching television and eating junk food. There is a reason why I do not do those things. It is called, ‘letting depression take over your life.’ At least, that is what I like to call it. I know you probably think I am too young to be depressed, but that is not true. I may be nine but inside I feel fifty years old. Horrible, is it not? I would love to go out and meet the neighborhood kids, but I cannot bring myself to cope with the fact that I have no social skills. If I were to go out there and talk to the little boys that always play tag out in my yard, they would think I was weird. I do not know how to engage in conversation. I am aware that I am socially awkward and that I am not a normal nine year old. That is what is stopping me from attempting to go outside and meet the boys. And as for watching television, and eating junk food, count me out. Every time I turn on the television, all I see is horrifying news. The newscasters have got to be exaggerating their stories. There is no way in hell war can be that horrible. At least, that is what I’ll allow myself to think. Junk food? Have you seen my Aunt? She can take up our whole bathroom with that gut of hers. I rather not go in that direction with my physical appearance.
So what do I do you ask? Sure, I told you I read and think about things, but do you want me to go into depth? Of course you do. Well a normal day for me is sleeping for about twelve hours. It sounds horrible, but I still have the other twelve hours to be awake and drown in my own insanity. So for me, sleeping is something I look forward to. When I get up, I shower, get dressed, and eat. Just like you. But then I sit in the old rocking chair we have and start reading the newspaper. When I cannot bare the news I am reading anymore, I start reading books. Books are a good thing, right? Well not when you can pick out someone from your life and put them in the characters’ of your books’ shoes. I will literally sit here and feel like I have seen and lived through all the things that happen in these books. I cannot stand it. But dare I stop reading. What happens when I stop reading? I think. Thinking is good, right? No. Not at all. All I can think about is if my Father is dead or not right now. If he is, I do not want to hear about it. If he is not dead, then I can only imagine the pain he is going through right now. Knowing you are killing people that you have no idea who they are. If he makes it out of this war, he will most likely end up in a crazy house. And as for my Mom, she cannot stand the sight of a dying plant, let alone a dying human being. She is losing her mind out there. I know she is. And everyone is a creep now-a-days, have you noticed? Well my Mom is a pretty blonde, if I do not say so myself. All those guys in the war are probably thinking about one thing and one thing only. Sex. I mean would you not? You hardly get to see the female species the whole time you are out fighting. All you witness is death, blood, nature, and sweat. Not to sound too blunt, but I bet half the nurses out there get raped. It is horrible for me to be nine years old and thinking of my Father dying and my Mother being raped. It is even worse that I keep having mini episodes in my head of it happening.
Now, as for my loneliness, I think you understand that I am literally alone. But, I do not think you understand that I am even alone when I am with people. Sure, I am not with a lot of people when I get the chance to be around anyone. If anyone, I am only around my Aunt. And if I am lucky she will take me over to her house where I can be surrounded by her unstable, chaotic, crazy family. Her husband is an alcoholic. All he cares about is what the score is for all the sports he watches. And for some reason she has her ex husband living there too. Every time I ask her why, the only reason she can give me is, ‘well Jamie, he has nowhere else to go. I don’t want him to be out on the streets. People are crazy out there.’ Crazy? That is your family, which is always what I want to say back to her. She also has two daughters. Jenny is a complete nut. She runs around the house in her underwear shredding every body part of her Barbie dolls with butcher knives. If that is not the scariest thing I have seen a four year old do, then I do not know what is. As for Mary, she is normal until you have a conversation with her. Every time you try to get a word in, she starts to cry, just so you can let her talk more. And after she is done talking, she throws everything in her surroundings at your face. I do not know what it is about the family, but they are all lunatics in the making.
So when I am with my Aunt at my house I feel alone. I know she is there in my presence, but it feels as if she might as well leave. I cannot describe the feeling as well as I would like to. Just know that I might as well be literally alone twenty four- seven, because that is how I feel. And sure, I have conversations with her daughters, but I still feel as if I am in the room all alone. I wonder if this is how my parents feel. I know my brother is alone. He might not be able to feel it, but he is all alone. I walk on over to the cemetery some days and talk to him. That is the only time I feel as if someone else is there. Creepy, is it not?

I would love to continue telling you about all my problems and all about the war. But, I just cannot seem to keep my mind in one place. I guess that is what happens when you are nine years old and feel like you are already older than your parents. I am too young to be this lonely and depressed. Good will be sure to come out of all of this. I just have to wait.