i exist [as the definition of nonexistence]

you looked me in the eyes and made a promise

"I'll come back."

It's been seven years, mom, face the facts, you left me for dead. You couldn't just learn to love your children. You needed the drugs, the alcohol, the pretty boys with their ugly lives. You needed the man down the street who said he was a friend, but he was in a wheelchair he scared me. And when his house burned down i didn't care because he scared me. What were those pills for, mom?

"I'll come back."

It's been seven years, Amanda, face the facts, you blamed me for it all. You blamed my sister, and she was only three! You were supposed to care about us, not the jello shots, not Seth, not the pills. We were your family!

"I'll come back."

It's been seven years. You stopped writing, stopped sending gifts, stopped pretending. You always told me I was beautiful, I was better than you, but you don't get it, do you? You have me your very best and very worst traits. I'm the creation you despised. The product violence and addiction and anger. The outcome of a toxic combination. I've got his anger, your obsession, his brown hair, your blue eyes, his bruised knuckles, your need for a substance to keep you going.

"I'll come back."

I stopped crying for a mother a year ago. I stopped pulling out your letters to read them. I stopped looking at pictures of you. I stopped wondering "will she come to my graduation if I ask?" Because I don't care anymore, Amanda. I don't need you.

"I'll come back."

You used to sing to me, draw for me, hold my hand. You had colorful hair and beautiful tattoos and soft hands and I never thought---

I never thought you'd leave me. And I was only nine, and it was your birthday, and I wouldn't let anyone else sit in your lap because I was mommy's little princess and I adored you and you were my favorite parent and then you walked out the door.

I didn't see you for a year.

"I'll come back."

"I love you."

"I miss you so much."

"I hope you write back."

"I'll always be your mother."

I fell apart because of you. I hated everyone because of you. I hate myself because of you. I started to draw because of you. I loved Jeeps because of you. I cried out at night for a mom who wasn't coming back. Because of you.

I was just a little girl. I needed a mom, I needed someone to teach me how to grow up. I wanted you to teach me how to paint. I wanted you to tell me stories. I was nine!

After you left, we visited hospitals. I learned there was more wrong with me. I learned I was adopted. I learned there was a reason I couldn't sit certain ways or tilt my head all the way back or open jars. I learned you were in rehab for four months. I learned you cheated on him. I learned my sister was an accident. You were sixteen when I was born. I learned you wrote an email and you said I was an accident too.

I was only nine.