Letter To My Daughter

Dearest N,

You are my precious sunshine. The reason I get up each morning and my reminder to go to bed each night. You are the best thing to have ever happened to me. Even though you drive me insane at times I still smilw at your antics. I miss those days when I could just hold you. 

Now I can barely get you to hold my hand as we cross the street. Doesn’t mean you aren’t still loving, just that you would rather explore the world. How I love to watch you explore this world. You are so insightful to what is around you. Extremely smart and brave, you do and say things I couldn’t dream of. 

You always have a kind word for others. Your very presence makes the world a better place, it seems. 

How could someone not love you. My baby sunshine. My little girl. My precious angel. You are my everything. 

Yet…I am not perfect. I am no match for you light. I do not make people happy just by coming around. I bring no light to this world. I am not brave or smart. I am not insightful. I see this world as cruel and unyielding.  I am not happy. I am no angel. I am nothing. 

There are days when I think about sending you to live with another family. People who can properly love and care for you. Others who are made of light who will not bring you down. 

I am your opposite in every way. 

How did you, one so pure, manage to come from someone as broken as me. 

There are days when I figure you would be better off with me dead. 

So I don’t hold you back as you age. 

I hate myself so much that I feel it is rubbing off on you. Just the other day I heard you call yourself stupid. Please don’t do that. Never think that. It is me who is stupid but I guess I call myself that enough that you think you are as well. You are not. 

You are the one thing I did right. My gift to this dark world. My only wish is that you change it for the better. That as you age you light never dims. 

I hope that you know you are loved. 

No matter how sick I get know that I love you. 

No matter the words I say know that I cherish you. 

No matter how down I get know that you are worth it all. 

You may be the light to my darkness but know that I am here. I am listening to you even when the pain won’t go away. 

I am sorry for the hell I put you through.  For the times I cried and couldn’t get out of bed. I am sorry for the times it seemed like I didn’t want to play. 

You are my most precious baby girl.

My reason to go on.

I know that isn’t fair on you at all and I am sorry. I do what I can to make you happy. 

This letter was suppose to raise you up…and I am getting to that point. First I wanted to tell you how sorry I am for doing and saying the things I do. 

Sorry doesn’t cut it but know that I am trying my hardest to make things work. 
Raising you is difficult by myself. People told me I should habe gotten rid of you but I didn’t listen. I do not regret that in the slightest.  I hope you grow to understand that. You are not a mistake. You are someone so astonishing even the gods take notice. 

I will not always be here but know that I love you my little one. 

Know that no matter what is said and done that I will always be watching over you. 

Know that my flaws are not a reflection of you. What is broken in me just proves that you are someone so strong that you can get through anything. 

I miss the times when you let me hold you for hours on end. When I could caress your tiny face and hands. 

Now you are older and want to play by your own rules.  My this world be kind to you my love. Always stay true to yourself. You are a smart, confident, beautiful, amazing, generous, kind, courageous baby girl. My baby girl. 
I know none of this makes any sense now but It will in the future. 

I promise I will try my hardest to be there and explain it all to you. 

I love you my sunshine. 

 Momma. 

Story of make believe 

Hello, I am black

It is not who I am but the color of my skin

Not my name but what I am known for

Hello,I am black

This is a statement and fact

Something to which I can not change

No matter how much others may want it

I can not dye it a certain flavor

To make it easier for others to saviour 

It doesn’t change my insides

Though I know how much you want me to hide 

Hi, I am black

This fact holds me back 

Makes others decide my fate in life

Not allowed to say my piece before it is pointed out to me

That I am, in fact, black

Judge and hated by those who crave it

A rebellious phase to touch 

Punished lust so hide we must

Locked doors with a passion 

My skin worn like Fashion

Hello, I am black

This statement brings a bad taste to your mouth

Apology accepted for your ancestors lies

Yet sit and swallow your own words everytime some a

Black person gives you a verse

Judge least not be judged

Your ancestors chose a path that you have since denied

Yet you turn a blind eye to what has not changed

Hi, I am black

I am still suppose to sit towards the back 

Accept the fact that you are the golden one

Shut my mouth against the hurt and the pain

That you have since spit anyways

But it is not always your fault

See others who share my trait still hate

Still try and hit me behind the stable

Cause I am different and unable

To love someone with the same traits

The same facts as me

Call me a slave who loves thy master 

Stockholm Syndrome spewed from a friendly pastor.

Whose only saving Grace is their age.

Their wisdom behind what truly happened.

Laying with the same face that beats and rapes

Is this what it was suppose to happen

Have I made my ancestors proud

Hello, I am black

And this fact has shaped my very being

Made me do say things I do not mean

Made me afraid of change for change sake

Made me hate those who continue to debate the truth

The truth being that I am just like you.

With all my traits, we are the same

On the inside at least

My skin should not be the factor for my future and my past

Should not be the reason I am set back by the classes

Hated by masses who look like me

Speak like me

Think like me

All because I am black

Hated by those who hurt like me

Who are broken like me

Who live their lives like me

Because I decided to ignore the divide 

And love someone I shouldn’t

There is a thin line between us all yet I dared to be the bridge

So watch as other shield the eyes of their kids

Watch as they turn their backs on my fact

Because of whom I love and the color that is me

Hello, I am black

This is statement and fact

But it should not define me

Ideal situations: My BPD 

Do you think they would tell her why I did it? Or would they keep it a secret and let her guess.

Would they tell her that I gave up on life?

Or would they explain to her how much I tried to survive.

Tell her how much I love her and how I cared. How many days I spent crying cause I wanted to be there. Those days I hated myself she is the only one who could make me believe.

In the end will they tell her the truth or would they just pretend?

I often wonder what would happen if I was to give in. I can’t do it cause I love her so, but damn, I want my life to end.
What would they tell my little girl if I was to succeed.  A bunch of bullshit lies or the truth they didn’t want to see.

I fucking hate myself and want to die but I can’t.

I have a little girl who needs me, at least that is what they tell me.

I think she will be ok. Rather be dead with her grieving then go about life hating the world because of my depression. Hating the world cause of my urges.

I rather her know that I love her and I tried then go through life hating it cause I made it hell.
But still…

If I did it what would they tell her.

My precious baby girl, what would they say.

In my head my death is a welcomed gift. Finally things will be ok.

But would they tell her this. Or would they make her think she was a mistake.

I love her so very much. Why Can’t I be allowed to give up?

I know they will tell her lies so that is why I stay. I stay so she will know that I love her everyday. I know her life will be hell and I know she may regret me. Still, I will be the bigger person and live despite being so empty

Murder, She wrote

I often find myself reading psychological books where people are forced to face some past demon. Maybe they were abused growing up or they witnessed something they shouldn’t have. Maybe they had a moment of weakness and it cost someone their life. I love this type of stories because they can bring me comfort or even force me to see things. When I see them I also get to read about how people overcame these obstacles and found something close to happiness.

Funny thing is that sometimes the main character may have to go seek professional help. They are diagnosed and if you, like me, love looking up mental illness, you can sometimes can an “Ah yep understandable” moment.

I recently had one where a man was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder.  In the story I read he was hurt as a child by his father and also watched as his father killed another little boy. His life was full of abuse even as he reached adulthood yet his quirks seemed so familiar to me. They were much like my own that before I even got to the chapter where he was diagnosed I started to question things.

He has this urge to paint, to tell his story. To finally undo this lie he was forced to keep. If he didn’t paint he would basically escape into himself and a ‘monster’ would take over. When that happened people were hurt bad.

The story was pretty much talking about his journey with overcoming it all and being able to love someone.  This was a psychological romance (m/m cause a duh) that left me crying.

It touched on things I have never even told my therapist for fear they would find me an unfit parent. How there are times when I feel like someone is watching me. They are so very angry. I know exactly who they are but I can’t tell anyone. Sometimes when I can’t sleep at night I can hear them talking (it is usually only one…or at least it has been since my daughter was born)

I know who she is and I know that with time I won’t feel her presence anymore.

I don’t know why it took a fictional book to help me realize that what I am going through is normal. I am pretty sure most would question my already fading sanity levels if I had told them.

But it is true. This book helped me a lot. I will probably never be as brave as this fictional character.  I will probably never have the type of love that they received either. Nor will I get the kind of support and dedication that I need to make it through this life as they did. I am not alone though.

Reading has always been something that saved me. I could focus on someone elses trouble for a while. My life isn’t perfect at all but it is my life. It may not make sense to believe this book helped me despite me writing as though I am helpless towards my future. I mean I do not think I have a future but this book did help me. I am not alone in what I feel.

My life isn’t some written fiction someone made up. I may not have the perfect ending to it but it is mine. In time my thoughts could change. But just knowing that I am not alone brings me a world of comfort.
There she follows

To and fro

A little girl I forget to know

Shackled to a hurtful past

She haunt my conscience so the pain will last

I regret the cause that brought her near

Regret the dreams I have grown to fear

The little girl who cases

To and fro

The little girl who won’t leave me alone

So I write her story

I write her song

I write all the way I have done her wrong

So that she may go to sleep another day

Until she is once again ready to play

*****************************************

The book that made me feel this way can be found here (via author website. She has a lot of other books that deal with some tough issues)

Or directly on amazon here

She is an amazing writer so check her out if you like m/m novels.

Listen

   Today I had a conversation with someone about parenting.  Now normally these end on a pretty positive note despite some arguments in the middle. Yet this time I was left with a horrible taste in my mouth. I felt so very dirty after talking to them.

     They told me how once they became a parent they would not allow their children to have any toys or watch TV. They would monitor the  friends they made and their lives will be filled with nothing but learning. Even from the womb they would be teaching them a new language.

      Now all that isn’t all that bad. All parents do a variation of this. What made me feel ill is how they would go about doing this. How the child would not be allowed to talk to others outside of the family. How they had no choice in this and werent not allowed to play. First they said no tv but that they could play old school games. When I mentioned that games where TV time pretty much, they changed it to that the child can watch TV but not much. They would only get movies and the child would not allowed to read anything that wasn’t educational.

If the child did not like this then the childs only option was to move out. They had to obey all rules or would be forced to go to the nearest mental ward for a bit…no matter the age. So if their 4-year-old was giving them problems they would call the comes and have them admitted.

I listened to this for as long as I could handle before I couldn’t take anymore. They said that they lived a life such as this and grew up fine but when talking about their parents you could tell they hated them. They treated the parents like shit and gleefully explained how they should no longer be allowed do certain things. Like be on social media or even talk to them. They said they loved their parents a lot.

They said that they turned out fine but they are homeless and they have a sibling who is in jail…yet both turned out fine from their own choices. Despite having a life they said guarantees them success in life.

I urged them to read a parenting book but they explained that they would make the perfect parent. I highly doubt that…

There is nothing wrong with being a someone strict parent but being both strict and a helicopter parent won’t help a thing.

This life of this hypothetical child sounded horrible. I felt like crying because I couldn’t image this sort of suffering. To not be able to have friends and enjoy life. They wouldn’t even be allowed outside cause they had studies to do. Sure they may have a good adult life but what about their childhood. Being smart is something we all strive for but that won’t bring us happiness. Sure having a crap ton of money, doing well in school, having various skills is nice, but what about life?
What is the point of living when you are alone?

This person seemed almost proud of how things are and I hate them for it. I know I am judging their life. I have my own issues. My life wasn’t perfect at all. I had the strict parent and I had the one who wasn’t there. I had the parent who tried to be my best friend and I had the parent who wanted me to worship the air they breathe. The ones who say they are always right no matter what and the ones who admitted perpetual defeat.
I was raised with it all and I did not turn out fine. I was spanked as a child and hate the ones who did it. I plotted their deaths for quite some time. Wasn’t till I was an adult that I realized that they came out of the experience able to sleep at night, and I was the only one who hated myself for it.

As a parent I see myself as more Permissive/ authoritative style. I give in a lot of the time. I want my daughter to have her own mind and at times forget that I have one. I have a hard time staying structured. I am pretty spontaneous as a parent which can be good and bad. I love talking to my daughter about how she is feeling. Is she gets into trouble we talk it through. Sometimes I just randomly ask her how she feels. It makes me happy cause there are times she will do the same for me. Praise is often given for no real reason in my home. I can be distant when I go through a bout of depression and I really hate playing pretend. But I make up for it by singing with her and reading her books whenever I can. We play dress up and paint our nails.

I do not expect much from her. I just got to the point where she has to pick up her own toys but I do not push a lot of issues. As long as she does her best I am happy.

This can make it seem as though I see her as a friend and I guess there are times I do. My daughter is the only person I talk to. I can go months without speaking to anyone who isn’t paid to be around me (Therapists, Doctors,etc). I sometimes forget what it feels like to talk to an actual adult. Now I go about a week without speaking to friends but it still takes a toll on my parenting. I am a single mom and it is hard for me to get to know people. I came from a pretty chaotic background. She is all I have really. It takes looking through articles such as this for me to realize how what I am doing affects her development.

I still have structure. She get rewarded or disciplined for bad behaviour. I no longer allow her to do what she wants but I am not yet where I want to be as a parent.

Still when this person told me about their plans it sickened me. It sounded like a prison.  I know I am probably judging them harshly but I couldn’t take it. Once they left a weight was lifted from me. Their  very presence was causing me to go insane.

This may not make any sense to many. It may even seem a bit silly to get upset over something like this. Something so small as talking about a child who isn’t here. Looking back at it all I probably over reacted but I won’t say a thing to them. I no longer trust them and want nothing to do with them. In my eyes they are monsters. How could they do this? How could they treat a child so? I have a feeling that is silly but my hurt and anger won’t go away.

I hate this…

L

Life as a Poster Child

Ever pay attention to those posters in your doctor’s office and say, “Glad that person isn’t me!”, Or , “Wow that’s sad, I should Facebook that”.

You never really stop to think if that person is truly like you. They could be talking about starving children in Africa, and all of a sudden you forget you are in that office due to an eating disorder, brought on from constant malnutrition as a child.

You forget it all because they seem worse off . You suddenly have your crap together, despite dying inside, because someone on that poster is suffering.

You will never see yourself as that child. Never see yourself hunched over in pain with overly watered eyes. Will never see yourself covered in bruises, crying in a dark corner as someone yells at you…again…

You will never see your scars as you stare at the poster of the child with scars on Their wrist.

You won’t see it because they are suffering more.

You will strive to get better, sure, but there is always someone out there that has it worse than you do.

It is like you invalidate what to have been through. Because you are…

It is easy to care about those poster kids. So why can’t we care about ourselves?

See, I am a poster child for mental health. Not the good kind but the one where the homeless kid in a beany (why are they always wearing beanies) is sitting on a bus stop (again why always a bus stop) looking at the people around them with vacant eyes. I am that girl ( cause it’s nearly always a female in these posters) who is homeless and clutching the hand of child. A child who may or may not be crying (usually not crying because that defeats the purpose of the unhappy mother. Always put lost mother next to somewhat better dressed and vacant eyed child. There lies the money-maker). 

Always surrounded by those who are better off.

In some shots she is smiling with her child and others they stand as if they are drones.

I am that poster child who is holding out a broken bowl for food

I am that child who covers their bandaged wrist.

I am that mother whom begs on the street corner for help.

I am them and I still believe that their suffering matter more than mine ever will.

I am a poster child who can’t help but view the posters of others and try to figure out the best ways to help them.

I know what my picture means, I will not ignore it, but at times I find myself forgetting all about it.
My suffering is no where equal to that of others.

My favorite poster to ignore is that of a single mom. Mainly cause there are not a lot of posters on the subject. At least not many attempting to seek help. 

Just success stories of those who rose up from the life given to them and raised children who is turn where successful. 

The “Thanks mom, Thanks dad” posters.

The ones littered around some community colleges.

They are there though, go, take a look. You are bound to find at least one or two posters, maybe just a pamphlet, stating something about single parents support-group. If you don’t find one I will make you a special gold star made of real gold and the tears of a very hangry dragon. A very hungry…very angry…dragon.

It is my favorite to ignore because I tell people that being a single parent isn’t that bad all the time. I tell them that I enjoy the solitude. That I am perfectly fine being single and alone. I like eating pizza with just a toddler. I hate going on dates anyways. That it eventually gets easier to tune out the most basic cartoon noises.

It is not that bad.

But it is.

It is that bad.

But I won’t tell anyone why. I won’t tell them that some days I go into my room and cry. How there are days when I washing the dishes and have to fight the urge to “accidentally” slice open my arm. I will never tell them of the days I resent my child. Of those times when I want to run away. See I can’t tell them that I go days without adult interaction and the reason I am so silent is because I forgot how to talk to people my age. I can’t tell them how my daughter is my best friend. They would think I was strange but she is the one person who has never left me. She has never abandoned me to the wolves and instead tells that I am the best person ever.

I talk to people online. They keep me insane more than they know.

If I died do you know how long my child would sit here alone? Days…maybe even weeks before someone started to worry about us. Even then it would be because I haven’t posted a video or picture of her.

I am the Poster child of a single mom.

But it is one I will greatly ignore. I will share pictures to the world about how single parenting can be fun. Every once in a while I will reach out for help.  Only rarely though.

I will lie to the best of them but am also willing to help others in the end. Other single mothers that is. The posters always meant more to me then my very own. I will seek help, I will not ignore, but I will invalidate my own poster for the better of others.

Cause I am the perfect poster child of a broken home.

Friends die

I have Borderline Personality Disorder and everyday a friend has died.

Not literally died but figuratively.

See

It hurts to lose a friend. 

Hurts to watch them love someone else and treat you like it never was

Like you never were

Like everything you have done was nothing

Compared to then, you are nothing 

Emotions change

Scenes fade

Forgive and forget is an overused phrase.

Move past and allow them to leave 

For them to smile

For your old friends to wonder away

Forget what it was like to live for yesterday

I lost a friend today

I will lose more as I age

Everyday I will be forgotten

Left behind by those who were to angry to say goodbye

I lost a friend the other day

They turned and walked away

Cursed my love, my very name

Said that even as time change things will never be the same

Lost a friend years ago

Never meant to last

Left without a backward glance

I lost a friend and will lose many more. 

Because of who I am and who I couldn’t be