Dear No One [on hold]

January 25 ~ 2pm

Dear Mollie,

Ah, I see.

That sucks. Don't worry, I've had those times as well. Waking up and forgetting that the problem ever happened and suddenly getting hit by it afterwards.

And oh, no reason. I just figured that you got hit by a car because in your poem, it said "you stopped and everything became a madhouse" so I referred that to a car crashing behind yours..?

Well, I guess that guy who hit you learned his lesson while in jail. I bet he really feels like shit, huh? Yeah, you can hate that driver all you want. I'm sure he'd understand.

Don't worry Mollie dolly, I will try my very best to help you cope and take all those shitty problems away. No matter what.

If you need a shoulder to cry on, you got mine. I have nice shoulders.

But just cry on mine mentally because I don't want us to meet yet. Just mentally picture my nice shoulders in your head then cry.

So, you want to be the Doctor Phil this time, huh? Alright.

Well, Doctor Phil, I do too have some problems I can't seem to escape as well. (Although, I won't be explaining it in a nice, deep poem like how you did. I suck at poetry. So, I'll just get straight to it on here.)

So, I have a father.

He hates me.

A lot.

He said I killed my mom because she died after giving birth to me in some hospital. Apparently, I was an "accident". They were never planning to have me.

So as I grew up with just my dad (my drunken dad), while him still thinking I was the reason mom died, he treated me like shit as well. I know the feeling too because I've been through it my whole life.

Before, when I was a child, the mistreatment wasn't that bad. Just a few spanks on the back or getting scolded and being sent to my room were the minor punishments. But when I turned thirteen, that was when he became even more strict and harsh. Instead, he brought in the major punishments; hitting me with random objects that could be used as weapons, he also tried to hurt me with his own bare hands, and even sometimes, instead of being sent to my room like before, he sends me outside. Shouting at me, saying, "You don't belong here" and "You belong with your actual family which is at the dirty streets." Then he'd drag me by the ear, out the door and lock it while I actually stayed on the streets overnight...

Well, not really. I just stayed over at a friend's 'cause there's no way I'm sleeping on the actual filthy concrete road outside. I had other options. I didn't want to be dramatic and all.

Although he'd let me in the house the next day after his temper had calmed down and he became a bit more sober than before.

I'm kind of used to this though. It's like, for example: always waking up early in the morning to go to school. The first time I started doing that, I hated it. But then I got used to it afterwards and it just became a normal routine for me. I'm not saying I like waking up really early for this shit though. I really don't. Just used to it. It's like the starting of the life cycle I have to go through every weekday. And that goes for the same with dealing with my super inspiring, drunk father. (I'm being sarcastic. He's not inspiring. He's really not, trust me.)

Seriously, this man is obsessed with booze. He uses a mix of vodka and Jack Daniels as the milk for his bowl of cereal in the morning. I don't even know why.

Although, I guess he really loved my mom because the reason he's feeling that way almost everyday is because of her death.

I've never met my mom. I wish I had. But I have zero memory of her. I've only seen a few pictures of her my dad kept in a photo album.

Well, there's my problem I can't seem to escape.

See? You're not the only one who's being burnt by guilt here. You think you killed your brother. I think I killed my mother.

But you notice how I said the word 'think'? Well, that's because we did have something to do with the cause of their death and we thought it was all our fault, letting words like "killer" get into our heads. But we didn't mean it though. We didn't mean for those horrible deaths to happen. We didn't know it was going to happen. It was an accident. And like I said, just bad timing. Sometimes bad stuff are just meant to happen as well. Life's kinda like that.

And you know, I'm pretty sure the guy who hit your car and caused that crash feels the same way we are right now. Drowning in guilt because he knew he was the cause of someone's death too. Probably feeling really sorry too. Really really sorry...

So, don't put all the blame to yourself for your brother's death. Okay?

It just happened.

Yeah, I think I played as the Doctor Phil more than you on this one, sorry. Haha, I guess I'm really into this psychology-helping shit. I' guess I'll try considering this in the future.

Okay, well my hands are tired and they hurt like hell right now, so I'm gonna end this letter.

Remember, and I know I keep saying this but just consider that Michael Jackson song, "You are not alone, I am here with you..." yeah, I don't know the rest of the lyrics but I think you get the point.

Well, I hope this kinda helped you because it kinda did for me. You're right. Writing it all out makes you feel a bit better.

Write to you soon.

Sincerely,

Me...you know. Or you can just call me your Doctor Phil. Both ways seem fine.

P.S. I actually wrote this whole letter all at home while my dad was sleeping because that's the only time when my house is at peace, which is why this is so damn long, sorry. Honestly, this felt like writing a whole page essay, I was so tired and I really hate essays. But if it were just for you, I'd write a whole novel. :)