Silent Shouts

Dear Mother,

I've known you earthside for about 5,331 days. In that time, we've laughed, cried, smiled, traveled, and adapted. You walked in while I was writing this and I may have jumped a bit. Let's just not be suspicious here. I have a limited amount of words to use and a lot of things to say.

It happened years ago, Mom. Back when we still lived in our tiny one-bedroom apartment at Sussex Square. It was raining hard that day, yet you decided to wear flip-flops. I will never forget how you fell on your behind right in the middle of the Giant parking lot. I will also never forget how our next door neighbor had been right there as it happened. That remains to be one of my most vivid, yet earliest memories. I don't even remember what year that was, which is crazy. Time flies, man.

Remember when we had just moved into the house and hours later you found a stain on the carpet? Thank God it had dried or I would've had to spend time explaining how I spilled my Powerade and didn't tell anyone. Instead, you assumed that you and Bj had overlooked a detail in your original inspection.

Speaking of the house, you never discovered this, but did you know, back when I was in the old room, I had painted on my closet walls? Multiple times. Little butterflies and heart sketched all over. I was inspired by Avery from Dog with a Blog, who would paint these masterpieces all over her walls. I wanted to be just like her. Soon I realized that what I painted was indeed not the masterpiece I thought it would be and that unlike Avery's parents, you would indeed burn me in flames if you found out. So I took my little Crayola paint and covered all of it in barely matching white, so thoroughly you could only tell the color was off if you inspected it with a flashlight.

Back in second grade, I used to tell everyone that I lived in this fancy mansion and my mom was a U.S. Marshall that worked for the president. I had only known what a freaking U.S. Marshall was because days earlier Nette Nette had told me that Stefan, a daycare alumn, had just became one and I thought it was so cool. So that's what I told people. They ate it all up. But I think the first time in my life that I experienced the emotion of true guilt was when I told you this and you responded with "You're not proud of what I actually do?". Back then, I had no flying idea of what you actually did, but hearing you say that was the first time I realized that I didn't need a mansion or a U.S Marshall parent to be cool, liked, and proud of my parents. You were enough. More than enough.

I used to get my iPod taken a lot. Usually for small things like forgetting to clean the dishes or not making my bed, but my device was taken nonetheless. Yet, you trusted me enough to still keep it in my room. When I didn't have my device taken, sometimes I would stay up after my bedtime and still be on it, watching YouTube or playing games. I shouldn't have done it, but what can I say? I was having fun. Somehow, the time you caught me was when I wasn't supposed to have my devices. So you assumed that rather than this being something routined (which still probably wouldn't have helped me out much), I had done it specifically because I wasn't supposed to have my stuff. For some reason, that made me more upset than actually being caught. You told me that you had found out because Bj saw that I was on the wifi. Now, to this day, anytime I don't want you to see that I'm on my phone, I turn the wifi off and use data instead.

One of the serious times I got in trouble, you told me to write you a letter and tell you why I did it. I don't specifically remember what I did, but I do know in my letter, on the back I wrote "Sometimes I feel like I need to kill myself for you to be happy". I was only nine years old, and though that was genuinely how I felt, I didn't know the weight of what I was saying. I didn't know what suicide was or how common and real the issue is. You didn't actually read the letter until months later. You sat down with me and had a talk about it and said I should never think that way. That was the moment I think, that I started to become more aware of the real world.

It really bothers me when you say that I have an attitude because I'm a teenage girl. I think that whole stereotype is antagonizing to a generation of young girls who are trying to learn to express themselves yet get faulted for having a human emotion. I never get disrespectful with you. Ever. When I'm upset I get quiet and secluded. It's not an attitude, Mom. It's a normal human reaction. That's one thing about your parenting that I vowed to never pass on to my children. I will never antagonize my children for having normal human emotions to something that upsets them as long as they're not being disrespectful or rude. That's something I've always wanted to tell you, with the slim possibility that you'd hear me out.

It's terrible that I hate when you respond "I know you" after making a not so positive assumption about something I did, because truth is, in the ways that matter, I don't think you do. It partially my fault, partially yours. When I'm around you I tend to retreat or tiptoe the tightrope of your emotions, not knowing which version I'll get that day. We don't have many conversations about life. I've never told you this, but I've written it down somewhere in my journal. One of my biggest fears in life is nobody actually knowing me. It pains me to think that when it's time to write my eulogy, it will be filled with a bunch of surface-level crap because no one knows anything deeper than that. Sometimes I want to write it all down and hand it you saying "this is me, Mom" with all the crazy random facts that all add up to something that genuinely matters.

Christmas 2020 was the worst day of my life. I think you could guess why, Mom. I confess, if there's anything in life that I'm truly upset with you over, it would be that day. While I forgive you, I will never forget. It had been a good Christmas. I was extremely appreciative for all my gifts, and after opening them, I piled everything up and headed to my bedroom to start putting them away. The rest of the day went by pretty normal. People came over, everyone laughing and playing board games. Around maybe eight or nine pm I began to feel a bit eh. Due to an abundance of things, and the pandemic, it was clear I was developing mental health issues. Badly. You came up to my room and told me to take all the wrapping paper downstairs. I was quiet and muttered an okay right before you left. About half an hour later you came back up and I was gathering the wrapping paper and clearly saw something you didn't like on my face. You. Went. Off.

You asked me why I had an attitude. "After all these gifts you want to be an ungrateful brat over some wrapping paper," I remember you saying. I don't know if you were genuinely upset at me that day or if it was something else that tipped you off. But you took it out on me, Mom. You took it out on me. I didn't have an attitude. I had nothing to have an attitude about. I was quiet and a bit drained because I wasn't feeling well. Mentally. I had been inside my own head. I had said I didn't have an attitude. It was quiet and broken and that seemed to have upset you even more. You started screaming at me and I started sobbing. I had never heard you yell like that before in my life. You called me ungrateful, you called me a brat, and you said I was throwing a pity party with all the tears. Maybe my tone had gotten a little loud from fighting to talk over the sobs and tears, but it was not my intention, Mom. You accused me of yelling at you. You backed me into the corner and literally started screaming in my face. I don't know when it ended, but I know I cried for hours after you left that night. And then cried the morning afterward too. You broke me that night, Mom. I was very cautious around you during the Christmas of last year in fear that it would happen again. Judging by the tears that poured by writing this part of the letter, I'm still not fully over it. I think that's one of my most sacred confessions when it comes to you. You'll never have any idea how much that day affected me, all because of what I learned was a depressive episode I had been having. You'll never know this. But I forgive you, Mom. I do.

Now don't be too mad at me for this one, but remember that stack of cash you used to keep on your dresser? Twenty-dollar bills in case of emergency. Well...I may have onced taken about two and then went on a book shopping spree at Barnes and Noble because they were having a sale. I am very sorry for my actions, but it was so worth it.

You probably don't know, that I did in fact jam my computer last week in silence class when I stood up too fast and my poor laptop suffered the consequences of my own actions. The screen has been glitching the whole time while I'm writing this and now I am very much on a book strike and saving up money for a new laptop. Will I be telling you though? Definitely not.

Writing this letter has been one and a half hours of an emotional rollercoaster. I wanted it to be truly authentic to our relationship. I think I did a pretty good job, don't you think, Mom? There are highs, mids, lows, and super lows. But that's what motherhood is about, isn't it? It isn't always perfect or fun. Sometimes it goes from being sad and emotional to being fun and joyous and vice versa. You've hurt me a lot, Mom, but you've built me up to be the person I am and I have never once gone a day doubting that I was loved. If I had to choose a single person that was most appreciative of, it would be you. I see you—the good, the bad, the ugly. And I may not always be the most cooperative or may not always understand, I love every single part that makes you, even if it sometimes hurts. We're human. We laugh, we love, we cry, we break, and we make our mistakes.

This letter may be full of my silent shouts that you will never hear, but it'd honestly been helpful to get it all off my chest.

I love you, Mother.

- your favorite daughter xo.