Dear Mom,
I'm writing this here because I know you'll never see it. I'm not brave enough to say it to you because I'm scared of you. You are a bully. It's your fault I tried to kill myself in 9th grade. No matter how many times you say you love me, how you act doesn't prove it. Hitting me and saying it was my fault is wrong. You're completely out of your mind. You are literally insane. Telling me my father doesn't love me was a lie and I knew, yet, it still hurt. You were my mom. You were supposed to support me. But you didn't. You blamed everything on me. You blamed the sexual harassment I faced day after day on how I dressed and the way I acted. I could have worn a damn nun outfit and you would say it was inappropriate. But you can wear low cut blouses and short shorts with out a problem. Do you know how it feels to be sexually harassed for three years? To be ridiculed at school by everyone. To have your BEST FRIEND turn their back on you because of a fucking rumor? To have people tell you they wishe'd you were dead? That you dont belong here. Do you understand the overwhelming urge to take a knife to my wrist everyday of my godamn life? Do you? I am only alive because I said bye to an old friend from middle school. She was the only one who was concerned about me besides my father. She endured being bitten multiple times by your damn dog, just to get to me in time to save my life. Did you know that? That the second you left the house I took a blade to my wrist and swallowed a full bottle of my prescription sleeping pills? I swallowed ninty 100 mg pills and nobody at the house never even noticed me not leaving the bathroom. That I was shaking, tears streaming down my face, as I walked across the house to my room? I laid down in my bed hoping you would find me. WISHING you would know it was your fault. You didn't even read my suicide note, did you? I bet you didn't. I said you could be happy now that your 'filthy, whore of a daughter' was gone. Did you know that I had feelings and I actually believed that shit? That even today, I struggle with my body image, depression, panic disorder, anxiety, and suicidal thoughts. I can't even talk to a damn stranger without panicking in the slightest. And it all your fucking fault. Are you happy now, Mom?
