Dear Mom

When I think of you my mind goes numb. I think of the good times we had and that just stings like my eyes after a long night of staying awake. I can't really sleep anymore which is almost tragic considering I have to be up early in the morning. You're the reason I sleep with my light on. You taught me nothing good ever comes from the dark. You taught me that even though you were supposed to love me unconditionally, you can always rub whatever you want in my face. You're nothing like my dad. He wants me to be happy he wants me to be normal. But I can't be normal because I'm just as much yours as I am his. I've been thinking about you a lot lately. You remind me of the full moon. There are so many other sides to you but you decide to only show the side of you that makes other people crazy. You were supposed to light up the night but all you did was make the dark even worse. Cause now I can see all of the insanity that lurks there. Sometimes I try as hard as I can to think about a good trait you have and I'm almost always disappointed. You try to be selfless but I always have to replace the less in that term with a broad term to describe aquatic animals with fins and gills. You'd be the kind with teeth. The kind that can take chunks out of me. That's exactly what you do you take pieces of me away with every word. Even the I love you's take a piece of me. That's why I stopped responding because I'm running out of pieces to give when all you do is take. All I want to do is forgive you but you make that harder and harder because you lack the ability to hold yourself accountable for anything you do to me. It'll forever be someone else's fault. But what happens when they're tired of being blamed and your alone? Who is to be held accountable then? I'm sure you'll find a way to blame the blades of grass for stabbing me in the heart and the wind for twisting the knife. I don't understand you and that scares me because if I can't understand you how am I supposed to understand myself. People often compare children to clay in the sense that their molded easily until they get older and more firm then they form their own shape and little can affect the shape they're molded into. But you're like the kind of clay that never dries out. But you're always molded by the wrong people. They turn you into something ugly that I can no longer bear to look at because your not a person at all. You're a puppet. You're under their control and nothing will ever change that. For once I'd love to see you make your own decisions. But I don't think I'll ever get to