Dear mother,
you hurt me.
everyday, you nag me.
i hurt, i cry, i scream into my pillow, and i tell you what you're doing wrong.
stop yellingat me, stop holding my arm back when i want to go.
stop repeating the things about me you hate.
i'm not fat. i'm not a failure. i'm not irresponsible.
i'm not stupid. i'm not a baby. i'm not worse than my sister.
i'm your daughter, and sometimes, it feels like i don't make a positive difference in your life.
why do you keep me around then?
you even threaten to send me away again, i bet that was easier than to deal with a teenager who won't have it all your way, huh?
i'm hurt. i hurt inside when you tell me these things.
my mom should be the one person who believes in me, who encourages me, who goes ecstatic when i get into a prestigious university, one who tells me i look pretty no matter how i am.
it hurts to be your daughter, because i feel like i'm never good enough.
and when i tell you these things, you think i'm just victimizing myself, you think i'm just guilt tripping you, but these are my real feelings, and when they are this strong, it hurts.
we have a bond, and we can get along. but it can't happen if you're always angry at me, mother.
elise is against me to please you, she's such a little suckup that she becomes a two sided bitch.
she tells you everything i do thats wrong and threatens to reveal my secrets i told her in trust so that she has something on me. i would never do that to her.
i know i'm at wrong sometimes, i know i fuck up, i know i forget things, i know i'm not perfect... but are you? is anyone? what are you doing wrong mom? is there any way you could make this better? i think there is.
i've tried to make it work. i stayed in one night out of two for almost the whole year for you.
i always ask if i can help out.
i try, what do you do? do you ever tell me the positives about me? no, only when i bring it up. some people tell me 'you're amazing, or you're funny, or you're cute', but i can't believe that because my own mother doesn't seem to. i know every single thing you hate about me, but i don't know what you love about me, so how do i know you really love me? where's the proof? the screaming? the anger? the accusations?
it hurts.. it really hurts. and its everyday. guess what mother, you call my friends the main source of my depression, i call it my family. guess who's a bog part of this family? this one isn't hard to get.
i can't WAIT to get away from you. i do love you, but i don't love how you interact with me.
this is prom. it means something to me, you know. it hurts for you to threaten my prom night for a doctor's appointment i haven't made yet. if you ruin this prom, mother, you are going to regret it and remember it for a good while. you don't know the side of me that hurts back like some others do mother, but you can if you push me off the egde a little more. so you're threatening me, why can't i threaten you back?
love you
your failed daughter.