What's my favorite color? Is it my fault or yours that you don't know it? I think it's ours. Or mine. Or yours. It makes me feel sick to my stomach when I think about how we joke about Bob being killed. So you can be free. But was it you who really trapped yourself in a unhealthy marriage or the failing government? You know I love you, right.
I've tried for years to not be like you, but in doing so I've become you. Others tell me I'm the complete opposite, its what I strive for sometimes. But I don't feel it. Should I? I look like you. We're both left handed.
People here remember you. They ask about you. It is you who's shut yourself out, not them. But I have to agree with you, this place is full of bastards and rednecks. They gossip like no other. People know everything about you and your family. More than I do.
School's getting harder Mom. I actually have to try now. It's not as easy as it used to be. I've never told you this before, but I think you did the right thing when you went to college after you had all of us. I never realized how hard that must have been until now.
I've tried to pin-point what's seperated us. To you it is that I live over 12 hours away. But to me it's internal. Don't feel special because I distance myself from everyone, not just you.
I've taken up writing. I've written a few poems. None of which I will probably show anyone but I wrote them.
I've choked while eating a few times recently. It's scary not being able to breathe. But sometimes I, figurativly, feel suffocated. So pushed and beaten down. I know you've felt that way before. Aunt told me so. I've been to a low too. I hide it like you do. I believe that I can overcome mine one day. Hopefully soon. Do you remember when I saw your bottle of Prosac on the counter and asked what it was? And you replied that it helped you deal with me.
I fear that you will die before I get to tell you some important things. You talk about you dying a lot. You say how it wouldn't be so bad after all you've been through. I don't want you to die. I may not show it but I truly want you to live. To be alive and live. Not just float through like you do. But it's my fault that you do right? Because I moved away from you. Because I'm selfish and just like Dad. Right?
I love you so much but, you make me so angry. I refuse to let this get to me much longer. And when I begin to feel down I'll write, not hide. I am strong. Its not fair that I grew up so young but I'm making the best of it and using it to my advantage.
* Of course I'll never give this to her. Its the second one I've written. Its too mean and angry. But thats how I feel. Its contradictory too. But thats also me. Anyway, as I said that when things get shitty I'll write instead. And thats what I did.