Dear Mom,
I blame you for everything. From what dad did to me to what is happening to Emily now. Can't you see that you not being the fit parent that you were supposed to be, you ruined my life? You deserve to read this. You deserve to sit in pain as I also am at the moment.
The only problem for me is that I have a son that is now seven months old. So I can't sit and grieve about my girlfriends depression. I can't and you can because you don't care about me. It doesn't hurt anymore, doesn't that make you mad? Mad that you can no longer control me? Mad that you can no longer order dad to beat me until I'm sore and crazy in the head. I bet it does. And I'm glad.
I blame you for Emily's depression. I blame you because maybe if you would have been the mother that I needed, and dad would have been the father I needed, then I would be able to be the boyfriend Emily needs. I can't help her through this because of you. Because of the way you raised me. I'm you, in a way and yet I'm left to care for a baby, with a second one on the way.
Do you wanna know what's worse? I need you now. Only because I have no one but I can't stand to even think of you. Why am I even writing this letter? In hopes that you'll reply, maybe? I don't know, but I do know that I love you because you're my mother. It's something that is out of my control. I should hate you and if it was in my control, I defiantly would hate you. Please believe me and let those words sink into your cold heart as you sit and grieve. I. Hate. You. Or at least I should.
My sons name is Kyler. He looks just like me but you wouldn't know since you haven't seen me since I was thirteen maybe? And even when I did live with you, I didn't look like me. I was always bruised and cut. My eyes were dark and I had a permanent frown planted on my lips. That wasn't who I am. Like I said, you nor dad can control me anymore. I'm a man.
So, if by any chance you receive this letter, please let me know. Tell me how you feel. Tell me how I'm nothing to you because believe me, it will only make me happy since you don't bother me anymore.
Your son, Jason.
--
I sat emotionless as I sealed the envelope that was soon to be touch by my mothers fingers.
After mailing the letter out, I took a brief look at Kyler and smiled at him. Him smiling right back made my heart do a flip flop.
"I love you, son."
"Da Da!" He cheered and crawled over to me.
"Yeah, daddy's here," I smiled.
"Ba Ba!" He cheered again and I nodded before making one and handing it to him. Over the past two months, he had learned how to hold his own bottle. You'd think that would make me the happiest and proudest father alive but in reality, it saddened me even more because when I sprinted up the stairs to spill the news to Emily, she had simply nodded and whispered, "he's getting big, isn't he?"
The only time that she had seen Kyler is when I'm carrying him as I walk into the room. Sometimes to give her something or to get something. Others just to let her eyes linger on him and maybe in hopes that she'd want to hold him and come back to reality. But she never did. Or she hasn't.
It hurts me, but i guess I'm used to it. I guess.
I put Kyler to bed and make dinner before making Emily a plate and carrying it up to her, "here."
Then I walked out.
What am I supposed to do? Try to feed her only to have her deny me once again. No. That's making myself suffer. But am I really the one suffering? Am I even considering her feelings? Probably not? But I have feelings too, right? I sure hope so.
What am I supposed to do? Oh lord, please help me. Help my family.
