Dear Mom

Dear Mom,

I love you.

You gave me my favorite toy when I was a kid,

That teddy bear,

Remember?

I used to hold it at night

When I go to sleep

To keep the bad monsters away

You know,

The monsters you told me to be wary of?

The monsters in my closet,

Under my bed,

Under the stairs,

Hidden in the dark.

But mom,

Why did you never tell me of the monsters in my head?

You never taught me how to protect myself from them.

Now they keep on haunting me,

They never leave me mom.

Never.

 

Dear Mom,

That hurt.

That belt hurt.

Those words that come out of your mouth hurt.

They all hurt.

Why are you hurting me?

I thought you loved me?

Didn’t you know that the monsters don’t like hurt?

They don’t like me getting hurt?

Did you know that?

Of course not.

You never listen.

 

Dear Mom,

It hurts.

But it is strangely satisfying.

To see my masterpiece on my skin

To see the glorious color of red dripping down my wrists.

It is strangely a wanting now,

To see red dripping down my neck…

My head.

After all,

I’m bleeding inside right now.

Because the monsters are fighting in me.

They are creating a war in my head that I don’t know how to stop them.

I don’t have the power to stop them.

So instead,

I distract myself.

With the red

And with the salt running down my face.

 

Dear Mom,

Remember when I told you I would listen to the radio in my head?

You would always tell me to go ahead and listen.

But you didn’t know it was them.

The monsters I mean.

I listen to them all the time now because of you

They tell me the truths,

In a repeated echo of your voice.

You’re worthless,

Selfish,

Ugly,

Fat,

Waste of space,

Disgrace,

Unwanted,

And worst of all

You know what they tell me?

Want to know what they tell me to do mom?

DIE.

 

Dear Mom,

I know now.

I have depression.

Yet you still can’t seem to grasp that mom.

You tell me that I’m not making an effort,

That I’m not doing anything to help myself,

That I’m not even trying.

But don’t you get it mom?

Having depression means that you are trying

And trying

And fucking trying

All the time

Yet it doesn’t seem enough.

I feel that I am the lack of enough!

I have these monsters,

That tell me to quit every single day,

But I am trying

I AM TRYING

Not to.

So why can’t you see that I am trying?

Why do you keep saying I’m not?

Why can’t you see I am fighting a losing battle

And actually winning

Since I am still fucking here?

Why can’t you understand?

 

Dear Mom,

Want to know a secret?

I never loved you.

What I do love,

Are the scars on my skin.

Because they are the reminders that I am a survivor.

You are a reminder

That I am never enough.