The Suicide Letters
June 20, 2012
Dear Papa Frank,
You fucking son of a bitch!!! You did this! You're the reason I never had a real mom. Now she's gone! You’re a condescending fucker! You know that? My whole life you have tried to brainwash me. Telling me my whole family, on my dads side, is terrible and out to get me. Even though I know what you were doing, my perception of those people is twisted. It's all your fault! Every thing.
My mother was a complete and utter fuck up. She didn't know how to be a mo. I was alone. Alone for 16 years! Living in her house, not a home. Nothing about it was a home except the room on the second level to the left. That was my room, my place. The only place that made me happy. My mother was always gone following your every word and command. She had no mind of her own. No mind to raise me. This is all your fault!
For the first time in your life I though you were doing some thing nice, not pulling the usual shenanigan. I was wrong. You took my car! You took my baby. I am crushed. I have nothing-happy left. That car made me happy. Even though I couldn't drive alone yet, I always had my keys. I showed that car off to every one no matter how much of a piece of shit it was. I though maybe every thing would be ok now. I was wrong.
Every thing about you is a lie. You’re a terrible fucking person. When I think of you I want to take every bottle of booze from you cabinet and drink every last drop until I fall into a slurred, slow death suffocated from my own vomit.
Sincerely,
Pixi
You fucking son of a bitch!!! You did this! You're the reason I never had a real mom. Now she's gone! You’re a condescending fucker! You know that? My whole life you have tried to brainwash me. Telling me my whole family, on my dads side, is terrible and out to get me. Even though I know what you were doing, my perception of those people is twisted. It's all your fault! Every thing.
My mother was a complete and utter fuck up. She didn't know how to be a mo. I was alone. Alone for 16 years! Living in her house, not a home. Nothing about it was a home except the room on the second level to the left. That was my room, my place. The only place that made me happy. My mother was always gone following your every word and command. She had no mind of her own. No mind to raise me. This is all your fault!
For the first time in your life I though you were doing some thing nice, not pulling the usual shenanigan. I was wrong. You took my car! You took my baby. I am crushed. I have nothing-happy left. That car made me happy. Even though I couldn't drive alone yet, I always had my keys. I showed that car off to every one no matter how much of a piece of shit it was. I though maybe every thing would be ok now. I was wrong.
Every thing about you is a lie. You’re a terrible fucking person. When I think of you I want to take every bottle of booze from you cabinet and drink every last drop until I fall into a slurred, slow death suffocated from my own vomit.
Sincerely,
Pixi