Countryhuman x reader | Oneshots

|Dear mother|

Hi, mum, it's me. Your only daughter, y'know, the girl that lives with you? Yeah, it's me.

So, I just wanted to... Talk.

I've been feeling really bad these past few weeks, but you haven't seemed to notice. You don't seem to notice my actions are changing. You don't bother to ask me if everything's alright, you just keep staring at your phone screen. I say 'Hi!' to you, you take a minute to respond.

Yesterday afternoon, I came home with tear stains on my face. Everything was too overwhelming for me. You didn't even bother to ask if I needed a shoulder to lean on. Instead of just provoking you, I went on my laptop, to talk to my friend. Unlike you, she cares to ask me how my day was.

She talks to me, she gives me a reason to keep going through all the things that hurt, that everything will get better. She makes me feel WANTED. And then, when I'm talking to one of the only people that makes me happy, you come and yell at me for spending too much time on the internet. You tell me to get REAL friends, to go outside and be like normal children.

I should point out, since you don't seem to notice, is hurting me even more, and is breaking my emotional state. You don't seem to understand that the only reason I'm always on my laptop is because nobody wants to help me in face to face.

You yell at me. Tell me to do chores. To go outside.

To be a proper daughter.

You only seem to care if there's blood on my arms, if I'm actually crying, if the scars on my arms are getting too big.

Will you care once I'm gone?

I know I shouldn't, but I added to those tiny, pink scars on my arm. The pain.. It helps me forget, you understand, mother. It helps me when nobody in real life wants to help me. 

That pain is my drug.

The blood sliding down my arm... The stinging pain in my arm... The tears pricking in my eyes... The knowledge that I'm a worthless daughter... It's all in my head when I drag that razor across my skin.

Maybe now that the cuts litter my arms, you'll see that I am sad, that I am breaking down, that I sometimes cry myself to sleep, that my showers are longer and hotter. Maybe you'll notice that I hardly eat my school food, or that I'm constantly tired and on edge.

Maybe then, you'll help me.

Or do I have to wait until they're lowering my casket into the ground?

But nonetheless, until you notice, I will wait. Even if it means waiting for you when my arms are one big scar, when I'm on the verge of losing my sanity, when I'm in a casket...

I will wait.

Sincerely,
Your daughter