My Unsent Letter Asking for Forgiveness

To my dearest mother,

I can not blame you for the way you think, but sometimes you worry me. Your views of the world are bitter and cold- yet I must remind myself a person develops their views based on experienced environments. Age 3 you lost your father and you have held that guilt every day of your life.

If this was my moment of perfect honesty- I must say I have been using your sadness as a motivation for my breathing. Let me explain. I am your daughter, the little girl you made the conscious decision, just after finding out you were pregnant, to keep me because of the sticker you saw on the truck that boldly stated "It is a life, not a choice."

From that moment my life was to begin and yours was to dramatically change. I am nothing if not grateful for the warmness you have provided me, how you generously gave me everything you had while asking nothing from me in return.

Yet, my shallow secret that I feel is necessary to share with you, is the fact that the only reason I have not taken the final steps off that edged cliff by our house, or swallowed the spherical medications intended to end suffering,( but not the suffering I have been enduring), or even the heavy weighted method of different metals that could scar my cold body, is simply because I am constantly reminded of the father who left you behind.

I can not put you through that again. I see the guilt you carry in your tired eyes, the relentless haunting of your dwindling family tree. I can not let myself walk away knowing what I would be leaving behind.

You have only been given a small glance of my internal debates. The debates you don't understand go like this: I would be left with momentary silence whether it be late at night or when I am just walking alone in the hallway. Then I begin to think things no one should think about like how easy it would be to just walk away. With these thoughts banging in my head louder than a drum, I would start to claw at my skin with whatever I had. It got really bad that it started to scare you and my brother, I'm sorry you had to see that. I truly felt I deserved it, those thoughts were not allowed, I knew better, so I needed to punish my head. It was my way of saying "This is what bad thoughts earn. You deserve this." I didn't deserve forgiveness until I learned my lesson.

I remember mama, that my actions have consequences.

These debates would bring about the most peculiar of thoughts. I would begin to wonder where I would go and I would start to get really excited about my plans. It happened again last night. I was driving in my small black car, a joyous experience for a new driver, and I started to look at the twinkling lights of the city. That is when the humming began- the humming of everyday people, living their everyday live, perfectly oblivious to the enticing city lights. As my car carried me forward I wanted nothing else in that moment, but again your father's choice loomed over me. "Don't do this to her. She will never forgive you. Don't do this to her again."

Mama, your choice to give me life, resulted in me having to protect yours. I know you have the debates too- the evidence is on your skin. But you have started to use different methods after you caught me running my finger tips against your lifted healed skin. Now you over eat- then punish yourself with a scale.

I have to stay Mama, to watch over you. Most nights I want to drive until I am fully immersed in the city lights, no longer debating. But my day of lights will come, and yours will too, but I won't turn on that light for myself, not like your dad did Mama.