• Your Daughter

    by  • November 3, 2011 • * Safe for Work *, Depression • 0 Comments

    Dear Mom,

    In early August you asked me who the boy I was talking to was. I answered with, “Just a guy.” You asked why I kept him a secret, I told you I wasn’t sure what he would become to me. But I knew that he had already become everything to me. I asked you to understand. I don’t fall for guys easily and it had been over a year since the last guy I dated who broke my heart. Wouldn’t you think if I fell for this guy and trusted him then obviously he was something special? But you didn’t, you looked at him and thought what was wrong with your daughter. You never even tried to get to know him. You told me he wasn’t what I wanted in a guy. He was on depression medications, a smoker, a college drop-out, an underage drinker, not athletic, and too old. That was the thing you thought was the worst, he was too old. 2 years….2 years older. He lives 3 minutes away, his brother is in my class, his sister on my soccer team; a good family. But no, you refused. You asked why I liked him and all I could answer was, “He understands.” I couldn’t tell you why because I don’t know why. I love him, Mom. I love him with all my heart. He doesn’t try to persuade me to do anything, he protects me from everything. He makes me happy. The only thing that makes me happy.

    It’s easy to make me laugh, it’s easy to make me smile, it’s easy to amuse me. But I’ve never been truly happy. You see people who cut themselves and you say, “How sad,” with a bit of pity in your condescending tone. You don’t feel bad for them, you just think they’re sick and freakish. You hear about suicides and say that they are so selfish. But you don’t understand, you don’t understand that these creatures, these people who you barely consider human are who I am. Since I can remember I’ve wanted to kill myself but thought I was being a silly child. Remember that time I wrote you a note when I was around 7 or so asking you to kill me after I had made you mad? I told you it was a joke…it wasn’t. Middle school I got beat up everyday. I hated it there, you never understood why. High school everything seemed to get worse. People were nicer, but I couldn’t control my moods. I couldn’t control my hatred towards myself and others. I started cutting myself, now I cut myself at least once a week. It’s not when I’m super depressed. It’s when I’m numb. I cut so that I feel something or because I think maybe I won’t feel that either. My life is good, I know that. But it doesn’t change the fact that I hate myself. It doesn’t change the fact that in every blue moon I’m in a good mood. It doesn’t change that I like feeling the blade run down my skin, feel the warm blood drip. It doesn’t change that some days I get so close to doing it, to ending it all. I wish I had the strength to, to end it. I know one day I will. One day I’ll run my car into the tree, take all of the pills, put the knife to my throat. It will happen, it’s the inevitable. But you will never understand, you won’t try to. You’ll say I’m a teenager, say it’s just mood swings. Nothing is wrong with me. So that’s what I tell myself. Nothing is wrong. Don’t ask for help. Then the blood drips. Sometimes I get scared and think I should ask for help, but I know the stress it will put on you and how you will financially suffer. So I don’t mention it. When I try to bring it up lightly it’s always my period, or my hormones. Because I’m just a silly girl pretending to be good. My stress is over the boy you say, when the only person keeping me alive is him.
    That’s what you won’t understand, what he goes through everyday is what I go through everyday. He understands, he helps me, and he is the only thing that makes me truly happy. He will keep fighting for me, he’ll never give up, you can’t make him. You can’t make me. I can’t choose who I love. I love him. If it’s him who I love then so be it, just let me be happy. I’ll go to college and get a degree and get a wonderful job and have a family, but just let that family be with him. Let me be happy with out your judgment or hatred. If you don’t just let me have him you may lose me in more than one way.

    You will always say I disobeyed you. I must follow my religion and God. So is this my punishment? To kill myself? I did wrong so now instead of the villain doing the deed, I will be forced to do it myself. Well then so be it.

    Your daughter

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