Dear Mom

We’ve never met.

Well, not that I can remember at least.

I hope you remember me at least.

I was too young, too quickly taken away

Because of the choices you made.

I don’t blame you for it.

I don’t spite you.

It’s not like that.

Even though we’ve really never met,

Our bond is the strongest on earth.

Mother and child.

I wonder what you felt when I came out.

What time was it?

Did I cry?

How much did I weigh?

How big was I?

All I know is my birthday,

July fourth, 1999, a vulgar mockery of my heritage.

Independence Day.

I understand you wanted to give me a chance to be happy,

To succeed.

I understand.

I like to cross canyons into my skin

And let watersheds of bright red paint dazzle through the crevices.

I like to carry the shame of branding myself with these scars,

Marking myself for further humiliation and hatred

When I look at myself, the acrid smell of a

Rusted chain on a park swing.

I’m not happy.

I haven’t told my parents or my brothers,

Or my grandparents

My cousins

My aunts

My uncles

That I love them in over eight years.

Not since I was 11,

And I tried to kill myself for the first time.

That was only the first time.

It went on. My depression.

It nagged me like a following dog,

Growling, barking, whimpering,

Gnawing at the back of my heels as I

Just tried to wait until it got better.

Until I had a moment where I understood why I am like this.

I spent time in the hospital,

In psychiatric wards.

Going to doctors.

Taking medication.

Nothing works.

I would cry at night and think about you.

My deepest fear is that you don’t care.

That you’ve forgotten about me.

That you forgot your darkest secret.

It’s me.

I’m here.

I’m still alive.

I won’t forget.

I went to France.

I realized I hated myself.

I realized I put all of my anger,

My hate, my contempt

Onto the people that I should love the most.

Sure, I’ve fallen in love

With boys and men that hold me,

Tell me I’m worthy

Tell me I’m beautiful

Tell me they believe in me

Tell me how absolutely amazing I am.

Everything a mother should say to their daughter.

And it means nothing to me.

I can’t cry anymore.

My dog died.

My grandfather died.

My uncle died.

And it was all so numbing

And after a day,

I felt nothing.

Because the pain isn’t comparable to that

I feel about you.

Give me up,

So rich couples from across the planet

Can shop for their ideal child

Like they’re in a store.

I’m a product. A product only.

My parents,

They’re good people.

But did you know before they got matched with me,

They were offered another girl?

They didn’t want her.

The mother drank during her pregnancy.

They didn’t want her.

So they picked me.

The perfect baby.

The perfect girl.

The perfect child.

But I am far from it.

I can’t recall how many, ‘I hate you’s’

I have said.

How many times the verbal fights were so much

I would leave the house

Or want to die

Or go and cut.

My parents never understood

That I am severely sick in the head.

But it’s not your fault.

You just wanted to give me a better life.

It’s okay.

I am trying to get better now.

I want to know what you and Dad look like.

I want to see if we look alike.

If I have your nose

Or Dad’s smile.

I want to know if I have brothers or sisters.

I want to know what they look like.

I want to know their names.

I want you to see my moon face

And my crooked half smile.

My diamond teeth

And my bow and arrow lips.

My abyssal hair.

I want you to hold my child-like hand

With the nails bitten down to the flesh

And see the outline of my strong body

And my weak mind.

I want you to share my pain

Because only you have the capacity to understand what it’s like.

No one else can.

I want you to share my pain,

my love,

my hate,

my despisal,

my contradiction.

Thank you.

Love,

Your daughter.