Tears roll down my cheek as I write this out to you, mama. I’ve been ashamed. Ashamed of my actions, ashamed of my choices, ashamed of who I have become. It has taken me too long to write out to you that I am in the most depressed state of my life, longing for the day that God needs me more than the Earth does.
I’m scared, mama.
Scared to reach out to you and say, ‘help me.’ Scared to reach out to say, ‘help me understand how to love.’ Scared to say, ‘I shattered my world and I still possess those tools of destruction in these very hands.’
Mama, I correlated love with abuse. I blended love with power, love with hate, love with fear, love with submission. I never thought love was meant to mean the free will to run amongst the sunflowers, smiling as the sunbeams gently warmed my cheekbones. I never thought love was appreciating the rain drops fall on my skin, while I danced in the sunset. Mama, I never thought that love was the moments where the butterflies would come flying from out from the depths of my stomach, causing me to sing because of the enchantment I felt.
But it turns out, it was love..
Where did the love go? I yearn to look at the sky, the moon, the clouds, the God given Earth, yet, I can’t look within myself to find the love that I strangely once possessed.
They say, ‘take your pills and don’t skip a beat.’ Are these pills the answer to my
ever-longing desire to feel what it is to feel alive again? Will I feel myself cry? Laugh? understand pain? Understand emotions? Will I smile again and know without a doubt that I am feeling that love from within myself? Mama, I radiate a dullness I feel from deep within me, and I’m counting on this little pill to help me feel again.
I am searching endlessly, tirelessly for the moment when the love becomes a feeling felt internally, rather than brought to me by an external force.
But mama, I’m losing hope.