Tuesday, May 3, 2016


An open letter I will never send.

Dear scoob,

I don't know if you ever wondered about why I stopped calling you. I don't know if you'd ever bring it up, even if you did wonder. I stopped calling because I was afraid. I was afraid of being told I was wrong for calling child protection service on cristian and our sisters. I was afraid of being told that I was wrong for cutting off mom and our california brother. I was afraid that I would be forbidden to or shunned for talking about our family history of trauma, dysfunction, and abuse.

I was afraid of being teased for how I dress. I was afraid of being teased and taunted for sharing griefs and frustrations. I was afraid of so many things. And I felt like our conversations had become so empty - just thoughts about the latest HBO series or the hottest young adult fiction series.

I was scared your anorexia was winning. I was scared you hated yourself. I was scared you had your first child to solve other problems in your life. I was scared that you didn't love me anymore - that you didn't know how to.

I still worry. I'm less scared, less concerned about what you think of me, about how you feel toward me. I mean, I lost you. And I made it anyway. It's almost like you died - how could finally talking about us and our relationship make things worse?

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