I have a box in my closet. It contains seven letters. Fourteen pages. Full of hate, despair, and frustration. I wish someone would find them, read them, and understand, but not tell me. I want someone to hear what I feel, to see it on the page. Please, someone, just find the box…
I said I didn’t want you to do anything, but I was thinking that maybe this time, you would.
Maybe, this time, you would see past the objections and the refusals, and just do it anyway, and surprise me.
My mom has hit me before.. But, I made her do it.. I pushed and pushed. I just wanted her to do it so I could have something on her.. So I could make her feel bad.. Like she always makes me feel.. I’ve never used this as blackmail though.. Not yet.
Dear You Know Who You Are,
I hate you. You’re never there for me. You always promise you will be, but you’re not. I can’t talk to you about anything.
You were supposed to visit for my birthday, but you couldn’t be bothered.
You’re the reason that you and mum broke up.
You go off with your stupid girlfriends and you come back and call me when it suits you.
And now what, you can call me a slut? As a joke?
I’m. Your. Daughter.
I pretend I’m together but the truth is I feel lost, alone, scared, insecure, and suspicious that so does everyone else.
I pretend to myself that i’m naturally pretty, but today I went to school with a lot of makeup, foundation, heavy black eyeshadow and most people said I looked pretty. I hate that I need makeup for people to like me
I pretend I’m excited that everything is going so well, but the truth is that I’m going to fuck it up. Because I mess everything up. Anything good that has ever happened to me goes sour. Everyone leaves. And all I’m left with is the empty shell of a wish. The more good things that happen to me, the more nervous I become.
When you were shot I felt responsible for not protecting you.
Work 9-5, go pick the baby up from day care, come home to a cookie cutter house with the perfect yard a business man husband just mowed, have dinner by 7pm, watch television for an hour, put the baby to bed, have sex with said husband only to have him get off after 5 minutes and then wonder why I bother and wonder why I’m not good enough because I know he watches porn anyway, then go to sleep just to wake up and do it all over again. You know what I say to that? HELL no. Fuck the American dream, I don’t want it. Sorry to disappoint, Dad.
I wait for you 2hrs+ everyweek at the station, just in case the bus runs late, or you run early…… just so that I can pretend it’s a coincidence and see you for 15 minutes.