I have a problem. It's been going on for quite a while. Say, a year, maybe? I don't know. I'm not sure. The one thing I do know is that I know myself. And I hate it. Because I know the reason I do everything. It's not some hidden, unconscious act I do for an unknown reason. I know exactly the why and what I am doing. If I feel lonely, or depressive, I'll become all broody and dramatic, and I hate that I know I'm doing this I am feeling this way. I'm doing it on purpose. It sucks. It sucks to know that I'm basically sreaming for someone to notice me. To help me. But, you know what sucks even more? Knowing that you're doing all this, and not getting any results. Because nobody cares. I even told my mother once. I actually told her that I needed a doctor. And you know what she did? She asked me if I was homesick. If I missed my grandparents. I had only just moved in with her in another state a year before, but instead of taking my depression seriously, she opted to believe that she could fix this. What I really wanted was to stop feeling so shitty. About nothing.
So, I'm alive. Boohoo. I'm gonna weep because I'm alive. Whatever. I'm so dramatic, it makes me feel even worse about myself. I wanted drugs. I wanted those antideppresants. Maybe, then...I don't know. I wouldn't be this way. To be honest, my mind is twisted. When it wants to be. My moods change every day. I'll be fine and dandy in the morning, just finished reading the ending of the book I was reading the night before, feeling content about it, or frustrated if it was a cliffhanger, and then I hear my mother cursing and blaming the Devil for all her problems and I get over it. And I'll turn somber.
I hate that. I hate that my mother gets to do whatever she wants. I love her, I really do, but it's a love you'd rather have from a distance. Like my little sister. She accepts me, but whenever my mom gives her over to me she starts crying, she just can't believe her mother abandoned her in the arms of this idiot that, by the way, let's her do more than her mother does. You're welcome! Now, stop crying. I'm not bad. I just don't talk to her in a squeaky, mouse voice or make stupid faces at her.
Back to my mother. Yeah, I'd rather be alone all the time. I've gotten used to it. I don't feel bad s much anymore, but when I do, it's most likely because of my mother. Sorry mom. But, do you know how annoying it is to hear her, every day, whining about this and that? Hey! I got problems, too, but you don't hear me blaming the world about them. She just always finds a mistake. In everything! "Oh, you ate three slices of pizza? Really? Wow, you just can't help yourself, can you? You have to learn to control yourself, you're too chubby. You know all I want is for you to be healthy." I am healthy! Yeah, I'm very much visibly fat, but I am perfectly healthy. Admit it, mom. You have a proble with my body mass. She'll deny it to death, and I know that she means well, but she can't admit that in her mind, chubby means unhealthy, or sick. I can be fat and healthy. Right? So far, I'm all right.
"Look at this room. It's a mess!" Relax! There are only some magazines on the floor, some books on the table, and some clothes on the bed. This can all be put away in less than two minutes. The reason they're there is because I want them to be there. Except the magazines. Yeah, those were put there by your other daughter.
It doesn't even matter if she is mad at me because when she is mad about somethin, you can safely assume her mood will be directed to everyone. Also, when she's mad, it's like her senses are heightened. Seriously, she more alert to find faults everywhere by everyone. So.
Dear mother,
I love you. I really do. But, all I ask is for you to leave me alone. Please. I'm at an age where all I want to do is be free from you. I know you care, but you care way too much. I don't want you to care. I don't want anyone to care. Because when someone cares about you, they give you attention and that's the least I want. Just let me do my own thing. I don't do drugs, I don't hang out with boys. Heck, I don't even go out of the house! You won't allow me to. So, if I can't go out - ever - then just let me stay in my room all day. I do whatever chore you give me for the day, like doing laundry, or cleaning the stove, or cutting my long ass nails, which are by the way beautiful, but give me enough freedom to lock myself up in my room! (Though, not literally because my room doesn't have a lock to keep you ou. You just barge in whenever you want without even knocking.) I know you care about me, I appreciate it. I just... Look. You stress me out. Okay? I've never been much of an anarchist, or a rebel, but inside, I'm not stable. And that's okay with me. I'm kind of independent. I don't need anyone, I don't really want anyone. I just wanna be with myself. I'm all right. You worry that I spend too much time alone, the truth is, I don't spend enough. Whenever you scream and complain about something, it makes me mad. Because you get to cuss. You be to throw things down. You get to reflect your emotions. Whereas I have to swallow it down. For you. Don't you think I wnna throw things around, too? Don't you think I wanna scream and blame everyone about my problems? Don't you think I wanna walk out of the house? Instead, I get so frrustrated that I can't do anything, so mad, that I start crying. They're not sad tears, definitely not happy, they're anrgy tears. Then, you ask me what's wrong, but guess what? I'm never going to tell you. I can't tell you. You have enough problems of your own. Besides, the last time I told you I wanted to see someone, you brushed it off as something it wasn't and I didn't have the heart to tell you you were wrong. So, this is my request: leave me be. I'm fine, I will always be fine. So stop worrying. You can worry about your other daughter, now that you have one.
Sincerely,
Your troubled daughter
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