If You Knew Me

Dear Mom

I want to tell you everything. But I can't.

I want to believe that you love me and you care, but I can't.

I want to tell you everything that's hurting me, but I can't.

And more than anything, I want to hear you open the door when I'm laying on my bed, sobbing. I want to come in and hold me, because it's been years since anyone has seen me cry, and it's been even longer since I've had a shoulder to cry on. 

I want you to understand. I want you to know that I'm really struggling with depression and I really need some help.

I want to tell you that I will never live up to the expectations that you have for me-- to have a worthwhile life, get married, have kids, do something important.

I want to tell you that I believe that none of my dreams will come true, that I will never marry, or do anything worthwhile. I will never let anyone in because I am too afraid that I will give them a part of me and they will leave, or they will gain my loyalty and will never let me leave.

I want you to know that I feel so alone that I just want to lie down and succumb to the void, that every night, I wonder if I will open my eyes and see light again in the morning, that I hate the numb, unfeeling monster I've become.

I hate being so alone all the time. I hate that everyone else's life goes on outside my door, that other people are happy, falling in love, having a life, and I'm still stuck in a pit I fell in years ago. Sure, I might have had a couple of highs in between, but I always fall back in deeper than I was before. Depression keeps claiming me, and I'm afraid that one day.....

I'm sorry. I'm sorry that my life and my existence have put you through hell and back again. I'm sorry that I'm not more perfect, like Sarah or Elizabeth. I'm sorry that I wasn't the daughter that you always wanted, to dress up and have fun with, someone to follow in your footsteps. I just can't be perfect-- I'm too broken.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.