To Mom

Dear Mom, 

There's something in the way that you treat me, so carefully, as if I'm frail, that causes my actions; when I come home, breaking all promises of sobriety, my honest feelings pouring out of my mouth in slurred revisions to lies. I'd just wanted to prove that I'm not broken, and in these mistakes, you look past the exterior, only to find that your daughter is shattered, like every other teenager, she's going through everything you tried to save her from. Tried to keep her purity, tried to save her imagination, her innocence. With 'pinky promises', that I'd so easily broken. 

I'm sorry.

I find idiocy in my generation of smokers and drunks, yet find comfort in the nicotine that I pull, everyday into my lungs. I know you're trying to protect me, and that I'm just rushing to grow up; But I want freedom! and I know I'm f*****g that all up, The constant lies and rushed apologies, you're trying hard to raise me and I'm just screwing around, dangling my life on a frayed rope, constantly challenging my body's endurance. 

I'm sorry. 

The drugs, the drinking, I'm in the wrong crowd, I'm constantly dating people three to four years older than me, because I assume I'm ready. I'm obviously not. I get a panic attack every time you call my name, scared that you've found out something, that I'd forgotten about, and wanted to give me s**t for it. 

I'm sorry.

 

I'm sorry, that I'm testing your patience constantly, and acting proud of the fact that I don't remember my weekends, I love you, and you're perfect. You're doing an amazing job, and while I can't promise I'll never do anything bad again, I can promise that I'm just acting out, puberty right? I still don't understand the 'real world'. I love you mom, and I'm sorry I can't clearly grasp this yet. I'm, again, sorry. 

                            Sincerely, 
                                                  Your Daughter.