Dear Mom

Dear Mom:

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry that I didn't do what I knew I should have. I should have come to you and told you everything. I should have let you know what was going on. But I didn't. And now this is the result. I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

But I just can't do this anymore. When your entire world turns upside down and you can't see anything straight, when the world changes from black and white to something different, something that defies even gray. . .something that changes everything. Well, I can't live like this. I won't do it. I refuse to do it. And maybe that makes me a coward. But at this point I no longer care

So I'm sorry.

I know I sound like a whinny teenage girl. I'm only thirteen years old. The world is so much bigger than the things that are going on right now. And maybe you're right. In fact, I know that you're right. But I also know that what I'm feeling now, the things that are going through my head, the things that I feel, they aren't fake. They're real. It's real things Mom, real issues. Just because you don't want to understand, or just because you don't understand why they're such a big deal, doesn't mean that they aren't real to me.

Because they are.

I hate me, Mom. I hate me; what I've become and what I represent. Everyone says that teenagers make a big deal about nothing. That our issues will eventually go away. Once we grow up.

Once we grow up.

Is that what you thought too Mom? Did you think it would get better once I grew up?

Well, I'm not going to grow up. It's not going to happen anymore because I can't do this. I can't think like this. You say it will get better, you say this is a brief moment, but you do it as you look at me worriedly. You don't know what's really going on.

I should have told you.

I want you to know that I wanted. . . I want to tell you. I want to explain everything, tell you what is eating at me, what makes me cry at night. But how can I? How can I tell anyone? I can't lose everything. . .ha. How funny a thing for me to say. I can't lose everything? Aren't I throwing everything away already?

You got scared when I started showing up to breakfast with little white lines on my wrist. You only saw them after they were old, Mom. You didn't know. I didn't want you to know. You never saw them when they were red.

Mom. Mommy, do you know why I used to cut myself? It's a strange feeling. . . being in so much pain but having nothing to show for it. I wish I could explain it in a way that would make you understand. How dare I hurt so much when physically I was perfectly fine? I didn't like it. I wasn't okay with it. So I made myself a reason to be in pain. I gave myself over to it.

I wanted to see blood. I wanted to see the physical evidence that something was wrong. Because I knew that if I didn't. . . if I didn't. . . well then I had no right at all to be hurting. Not if nothing was wrong. Not if it was all in my head. I can't do this any more Mom. I love you. Or at least I think I do. I want to say I'll see you later. But I know I won't.

Because at this point. . . I'm not so sure that I believe in God anymore.
---Tera

My dearest Tera,

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry you didn't think I understood. I'm sorry you didn't realize that I was there. I'm sorry that you didn't want to come to me when you needed me the most. You thought I didn't understand, you thought I didn't care. You thought I was too old, too aged, too misunderstanding. You thought you were the only one to have ever experienced this pain.

I'm sorry I didn't explain. I'm sorry I didn't tell you.

Tera, my darling daughter, did you think that I had never been hurt? Did you think that my life was perfect? You silly girl, you said it yourself that you knew that eventually your world would get better, but you didn't believe it enough to stay. My life was hard too. My life wasn't perfect either.

I know what it's like to want to see blood to explain away my pain.

Why did you leave me Tera? Did you think that I wouldn't be able to comprehend? Did you not want to hurt me too?

Tera, I have experienced the same things you have. The world has gotten tough, the winds have blown and knocked me over more than once, but I always was forced to stand back up. Oh sweetheart, why didn't you trust yourself to continue standing?

I miss you. I love you. Why did you have to leave?

I'm setting this on the gravestone now, beside the picture of your young face. I wonder if you can see it? You said that you'd stopped believing in God.

I wish I could tell you, I wish I could have explained, he was the only one keeping me standing.

I wish I'd taught you to cleave to him too.

I love you,
Mom