Dear Elizabeth

The Darkest Days

Liz,

It's half past midnight, and I can't sleep,

I've been anxious and restless for more than a week,

I've been remembering so many things,

And as I do, tears roll down my face,

You know, the things that happened weren't fair,

Back then, you were only eight,

But they...they simply didn't care,

Okay, enough about that,

You've already got too much going on,

I will save such flashbacks for later on,

But I do want to say one thing, Liz,

The past always catches up,

And when it does, it does it very mercilessly and pretty fast,

I've got a question, and I really want to know,

When did you stop fighting, showing Mom who's boss?

I remember the letter you wrote,

What society calls a 'suicide note',

You wrote your last goodbyes,

You talked about all the good ol' times,

July fifth was the last time Mom left,

You haven't heard from her since,

But, would she even care?

In that letter, there was something hurtful you said,

You wrote for one of your siblings to give a special message to Mom,

You specifically wrote that she had finally won,

You were sitting up,

Yours knees to your chest, and your back against the wall,

It was after school, so you were home alone,

You had thought this through the day before,

But did you really think you were going to get away?

That you could simply walk away from this game?

You were holding something in your hands, and it wasn't a razor blade,

I believe it was a kitchen knife, perhaps the kind used for steaks?

Fortunately, you had never cut before,

Therefore, you had no idea how it was 'properly done',

You had some cuts here and there,

But they weren't deep enough,

You were startled by a knock on the door,

Your sister was begging for you to open up,

To tell her what was going on,

After that, I don't remember what went down,

But I think you took a grizzly bear nap,

In between reality and unconsciousness,

You could hear your brother and his wife,

What they were talking about?

I don't exactly recall,

The day after, though, you wore a sweater to hide the cuts,

After school, you waited outside,

Your brother was going to pick you up,

After dinner with him and his wife,

Your sister-in-law took you out,

You guys went to the stores,

She bought large band-aids to cover up the shameful cuts,

The advice she gave you, with her green eyes so soft,

I have never forgotten what she said,

I remember like it was the day before yesterday,

She told you it wasn't healthy to bottle all your feelings inside,

That sometimes it was necessary to speak up,

She also introduced you to a new hobby,

A hobby to keep your restless mind busy,

It expanded your creativity and imagination,

Even though, at first, it wasn't easy,

Scrapbooking proved to be a good escape,

Keeping you working before you'd go insane,

Weeks later you ended in the hospital,

Even though you no longer felt suicidal,

Word in school had spread,

Not that you cared,

But a concerned parent had different plans,

You were called to the counselor's office,

Where you were asked what was going on,

You said everything so casually,

The counselor decided it'd be best to give your sister a call,

It was the first time you ever saw her cry,

She felt hopeless,

With you, she no longer knew what to do,

The counselor suggested a trip to the hospital, and you had no choice,

You needed a doctor's referral to the psychiatric ward,

As a result, you had to go to therapy with a psychologist,

How exciting, right?

At your first therapy, you didn't go down without a fight,

You sure were a stubborn one,

The doctor would speak, and you'd keep your mouth shut,

When she was done, you gave her a piece of your mind,

You told her how depression wasn't an illness or disorder,

You told her it was a feeling, made up of messed up emotions,

Therefore, it couldn't be cured,

Not with medication, not in a psychiatric ward,

She explained how it was a chemical unbalance in the brain,

Ha. You looked at her like she was the one who was insane,

You know, Liz, for all the things you had lived,

At that appointment, you sure acted immature,

Finally, you gave in,

You realized that if you don't help yourself, then who can?

You went to therapy for quite a while, I don't remember exactly how long,

You were on antidepressants for nine months,

All this helped, and you were smiling again,

You started picking up healthy and productive hobbies like there was no end,

I smirk as I recall this part,

You've always been an intriguing one,

But be ready, hon,

Because being thirteen is going to give you an interesting blow,

Take care, and please stay away from any razor blade.

                 Always yours,

                               A somewhat 'mature' Elizabeth