Mea Culpa
1/1
Dear Mama,
First of all, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
I can’t tell you how many times I've thought it through over and over in my mind. All I can really say is I’m sorry. You don’t deserve this, you really don’t. I've always been thankful for everything you've done for me and I want you to remember that.
What I’m going to do, or by the time you read this, did, is purely out of selfishness, as always, but I know you’ll blame yourself no matter what I say. Though I’ll still say it and maybe my words won’t help you, but I will still speak them in case they do. This wasn't your fault. Please, please understand that. I know you tried and I did too, but this time it was just too much.
Do you remember those times you would take me to the cinema in the middle of school days and we would go watch all those superhero movies? Those were the days I looked forward to, though I never knew when they’d come. Do you remember how you’d hold my hand during the battle scenes? I remember you’d hold my hand so tight when the hero fell and almost, almost loses hope. It was inevitable in every movie we saw, but you still gave a start every time it happened. I remember you whispering to yourself over and over again things like, “Be brave.”, “Get back up.”, and “Have hope.” as if you were talking to the hero yourself. Maybe you weren't talking to the hero but they still got back up. They still got back up, Mama. Something I couldn't do, and for that, I’m so sorry.
I thought you had some kind of superpower to inspire people. In a way that is a superpower, one that has the power to change the world; one you've probably used countless of times on me. But I loved your words. I loved the way they wrapped around my shoulders in a cold winters day and cooled my burning forehead in the heat of summer. I loved how you could have a ten second conversation with cranky, old Mr. Whitlaw across the street and he’d be smiling for the rest of his days. I loved your words because they were what put me to bed every night. I loved every time they washed away my tears or made me laugh. I loved every roll of your tongue and hiss of your lips. I loved your words because they were yours alone and no one else could take them away from you. I love your words because they are who you are, my mother, chasing away the monsters under my bed.
But why didn't they work on me this time, Mama? Why was the only person who could possibly need them, be numb to them? It was like they came through one ear and went right on out the other. Why couldn't I fight the monsters this time, Mama? Why am I so weak? Did I do something for your words to hate me? I can hear the monsters right now, crying out for me… crying to take hold of what’s left of me. They’re screaming such vile things to me. They tell me I’m weak. I am weak. But I’m also so, so tired, Mama. I can’t take it anymore. Their words pierce through my mind and seethe through my veins. I have to make them stop, Mama. I have to. I just want peace. I want to breathe. I want silence from the demons that haunt me. They’re taking my tongue, Mama. They’re jealous of my words; they can’t form any beautiful words of their own, Mama. I pity them.
But I won’t let them take it away. These are my words and they are for you; all that I have left.
This is not your fault, Mama.
I’ll love you always, M.
P.S I’ll tell Sissy you said hi.
First of all, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
I can’t tell you how many times I've thought it through over and over in my mind. All I can really say is I’m sorry. You don’t deserve this, you really don’t. I've always been thankful for everything you've done for me and I want you to remember that.
What I’m going to do, or by the time you read this, did, is purely out of selfishness, as always, but I know you’ll blame yourself no matter what I say. Though I’ll still say it and maybe my words won’t help you, but I will still speak them in case they do. This wasn't your fault. Please, please understand that. I know you tried and I did too, but this time it was just too much.
Do you remember those times you would take me to the cinema in the middle of school days and we would go watch all those superhero movies? Those were the days I looked forward to, though I never knew when they’d come. Do you remember how you’d hold my hand during the battle scenes? I remember you’d hold my hand so tight when the hero fell and almost, almost loses hope. It was inevitable in every movie we saw, but you still gave a start every time it happened. I remember you whispering to yourself over and over again things like, “Be brave.”, “Get back up.”, and “Have hope.” as if you were talking to the hero yourself. Maybe you weren't talking to the hero but they still got back up. They still got back up, Mama. Something I couldn't do, and for that, I’m so sorry.
I thought you had some kind of superpower to inspire people. In a way that is a superpower, one that has the power to change the world; one you've probably used countless of times on me. But I loved your words. I loved the way they wrapped around my shoulders in a cold winters day and cooled my burning forehead in the heat of summer. I loved how you could have a ten second conversation with cranky, old Mr. Whitlaw across the street and he’d be smiling for the rest of his days. I loved your words because they were what put me to bed every night. I loved every time they washed away my tears or made me laugh. I loved every roll of your tongue and hiss of your lips. I loved your words because they were yours alone and no one else could take them away from you. I love your words because they are who you are, my mother, chasing away the monsters under my bed.
But why didn't they work on me this time, Mama? Why was the only person who could possibly need them, be numb to them? It was like they came through one ear and went right on out the other. Why couldn't I fight the monsters this time, Mama? Why am I so weak? Did I do something for your words to hate me? I can hear the monsters right now, crying out for me… crying to take hold of what’s left of me. They’re screaming such vile things to me. They tell me I’m weak. I am weak. But I’m also so, so tired, Mama. I can’t take it anymore. Their words pierce through my mind and seethe through my veins. I have to make them stop, Mama. I have to. I just want peace. I want to breathe. I want silence from the demons that haunt me. They’re taking my tongue, Mama. They’re jealous of my words; they can’t form any beautiful words of their own, Mama. I pity them.
But I won’t let them take it away. These are my words and they are for you; all that I have left.
This is not your fault, Mama.
I’ll love you always, M.
P.S I’ll tell Sissy you said hi.