Dear Mom,

Whenever you had something to say to me, you’d write me a letter. Leave it on my pillow and forget to sign it, ‘with love’. When you’d call, I could tell you would rather be talking to my answering machine.
I know that people change but there’s only so much you can take after they continually disappoint.
And I probably sound schizophrenic because my thoughts aren’t flowing from my heart through my pen the way I would like, but I hope you understand what I’m screaming.
I’m emotionally distant. You’ve robbed me of my potential and traded it in for your narcotics. Your boyfriend replaced me, and before you ran off- you took my trust because I can’t trust anybody, after you.

I can’t reach out to anyone because my arms don’t remember what it feels like to be held.

So they’re cemented in a constant position, pushing pain, do you hear me?

Maybe this is my fault

I probably shouldn’t have expected too much from a woman who dyes her hair different color and has more piercings than I can count on my fingers.

You never told me you loved me, so it was wrong of me to jump to conclusions.
And I’m not asking for you to come back, I’m perfectly stable without you.
I’ve raised myself and don’t need your pity but mom, I want you to know that I’m strong.
I want you to know that I’m on the right path and maybe if you knew me better, you’d be proud.
I don’t know if you remember, but I can still recall the day that you left and said you would come back.

Mom, I waited for you.

I waited by that damn door—religiously.
When you left, it was a stab to my heart and with the years an infection developed from this hole that you carved, years ago.
I don’t miss you; I miss the thought of you.
I’m envious of others and maybe you’ve made me a bit cynical.
If actions speak louder than words, mom, your actions spoke louder than anything you’ve ever said to me.
And the day that you came back, you expected me to accept you
But instead I treated you like dirt and beat you with my cold heart until you ran away, again.
What was I supposed to do? How could I let some stranger who calls herself my ‘mother’ into my life? A life she was never a part of.
I don’t even know who you are anymore.
If you loved me, why didn’t you show it?
I’m sorry
I’m sorry that I haven’t gotten over this and I’m sorry I’m holding onto this grudge
But maybe I’m too stubborn at only 16 to admit that maybe I’m the one who’s wrong.
I’ll admit.
I started writing this letter a long time ago.
For years I’ve been writing “I hate you- get lost”.
But today I’m trying to write, “Come back, please”.
I want you to tell me what my first word was- even though you don’t remember

I want you to tell me that you never felt better than when you brought me home from the hospital, because it was the first time you were whole.

This letter isn’t meant to make you feel bad and I’m writing it consciously knowing that guilt runs through your veins like porcelain ready to shatter in your stomach.
Stop saying you regret how you raised me because I don’t regret what you made me.
Let go of all the mistakes that we made and let that take us somewhere
Maybe we can get there someday.
And I’ll tell you that when I think of my childhood, I think of your freckles.
If the first step to getting there is telling you “I love you”, I will carve it in Braille on your pillow so it’s the first thing you feel in the morning.
I will pull my umbilical cord out of my stomach and tie it to your wrist so when you feel lost, you have something to pull on- mom, I promise to stop walking as soon as I put this pen down, as long as you promise to realize a daughter is more than just a noun.
My arms are open and waiting and I’ll walk more than halfway if you promise you will meet me there someday.