Letter Home

Dear Mom,
  Writing is more than a form of communication. It is a way to breathe. It is a way of life. When breathing is too hard, writing sustains. It fills the lungs and cleanses toxins. When I write, the toxins are no longer in my bloodstream. They are swimming and drowning in the ink drying on the paper. Sometimes I hear them crying out for my blood. They need me to live like I need to write.
  I dream that you read what I write, but your reaction when you finally understand haunts my nightmares. But you need to know.
  There's so much I wish you knew. I wish you knew that I smoke, drink, and listen to "bad" music not to spite you or because I've been corrupted, but because it helps. It helps in a way that you never could.
  We're both caught up in our separate worlds. We can never meet in the middle, because from you I get my obstinacy. There is no negotiation to be made; we can't even agree to disagree. It's your way, no highway option. It feels like you don't care. Do you? Or are you so selfish that you can't care about anyone but yourself and your beliefs? Is that more important to you than I am?
  Maybe I am also selfish. Maybe it's a selfish vice to expect love and affection from your parents. If so, I hope you don't expect an apology from me.
  After all these years, you still can't figure out what is apparent to everyone else about me. How much I love my music and hate your criticism on it. How much I love to think.
  I'm always thinking of something. Even when you think my face looks calm and passive, if you were to take the time (something I realize I'm not worth) to look closer, you would reconsider. Beneath the surface, my eyes are never still, not even when I sleep. There is always something on my mind; when I tell you otherwise, it's as big as lie as telling, "I love you."
  You take my calm, content face for granted and assume it means you're doing something right. But any contentedness you see in me is in spite of you. A person can learn to deal with any situation when it can't be changed. And so I have.
  I've learned to deal with your constant criticism and oppression. I've learned to deal with your naivety and even your selfishness. I'm learning that the only way to get what I want is by my own means and efforts, not through you. But there is one thing I could never learn to tolerate.
  How could you possibly take such low blows? To find the one thing I store my hope on and threaten me with its removal?
  I view hope as a dangerous emotion. This is one of the few things you have taught me. There is an old saying, "A boat should not be tied by a single rope, nor life by a single hope." I understand why now, thanks to you. Because there is always someone like you, ready to drop the ax if their wishes are not fulfilled. How you could seem so heartless is beyond me.
  I wonder if you have always been like this. You try so hard to be strong, but I know you aren't. Why would a strong being lean so heavily on the image they see reflected in others eyes? You should know that it matters naught what they see; it's who you are that matters.
  So many things you simply can not understand. And I am one of those things.
  The thing you should know is that I no longer fight you to get my way. I know I can have my way without your help or your consent. I fight you because I can't stand to hear you tell me 'no,' because I hate that you think I will stop there and give up. Because I love proving you wrong again and again.
  After fifteen years of this, only one thing has changed. You can never change me now. You have made me who I am today, for better or for worse. And you can never take it back, you can never make up for it.

  ~Hannah