I don’t even know where to start with you these days. How are you? It feels weird to say that.
Do you wonder how I’m doing, too?
I’m 25 now,
A woman. Last time you saw me I was a girl.
I’m sorry I haven’t written. Or answered the phone when you’ve called.
I just don’t know
If I consider you
It’s funny, I find myself asking how you’re doing, but let me be real for a minute with you here because I never gave myself the chance. I’ll be honest. I don’t care how you’re doing and I haven’t cared in years. I didn’t write to ask you that.
I wrote to ask you why.
Why were you never there?
Why did you choose drugs over your own child?
Why did you let things get the best of you? Of your mind?
Why did you not ever bother to check in with me as I grew up? As I went to college? As I moved states away and started a life of my own?
Why did you keep me in the first place?
I’m sorry, and I know this is a lot, but I’ve felt a lot over the years.
You’re still my mother, I know, but when I was becoming who I am
And now, you’re alone, in jail, and trying to call me on the phone. I’m not going to answer. I’m not ready yet. I had to think my words through, I’ve pushed you to the back of my mind for so long so I could forget the pain you put me through.
I’ll be honest, this helps me, writing it out. I’m sorry if this has been harsh, but really, what more did you expect?