I don’t know where you’re at tonight but I wish that you were here. I wish that you were laying beside me, comforting all of my fears and pain from the previous weeks, and indiscriminate past. I wish that you were reading this so that you could hear what my heart has to say to you, but you’re not. I don’t know where you are. You’re not my child any more but every so often, more often than not, I get this cutting feeling that somethings not right, that you are hurt or scared. During those times, I yearn for you. Do you for me? I’m kind of mad at you, mom. You really let me down, and continue to do so. So many other children don’t even know their mom and yearn for her, but me, I know mine and there are days I wish I didn’t. Some days I wish you were nothing but an imaginary figure floating in my head, because then I wouldn’t have to fight so hard to accept what is, is. I’ve been thinking about you a lot today, about the things you taught me and helped me believe about myself. They aren’t very good things for one to believe about ones-self you know. I haven’t had the urge to make others feel the way I do in a while, but tonight it was strong. I wanted to make Bailey believe that she’s all of those mean, nasty things you helped me to believe about myself. Luckily, through experience, I have learned to filter a lot of my thoughts out so I was only calling her those names in my head, but mom, little girls aren’t supposed to know those words. Are you damaged? Do you think that about yourself? To me, you seem like a broken little girl trapped in an adult’s body, just waiting for someone to come and rescue you. Is that true? Are you waiting? I’ve found that’s how I have been for a while, waiting and waiting for someone to come along and rescue me. But mom, no one’s going to come, you have to rescue yourself. It’s really hard work. It’s exhausting, terrifying, miserable, painful, taxing, and very draining. Sometimes I don’t think it’s worth it because the fight to live seems so much harder than the fight to survive. I think anyone can fight to survive, but not many fight to live. That’s the challenge. Mom, I don’t understand your logic, your emotion, or your reactions to everything that is happening, but you keep sending me this message that is quite abrupt: YOU ARE NOT MY CHILD, YOU RUINED MY LIFE. I want you to know mom, I didn’t. You chose to give me life, you chose to bring me into this world. Your life is in your hands, no one else’s. I used to believe the same about you–that you ruined my life–but you didn’t. You made me into the woman I am today. I am a fighter. I am a survivor. Some days things get really hard. I sit and wish that you would come back and that you would finally realize the reality surrounding you. I often wonder if you realize how hard life really is, without the drugs. Sometimes, when things get really hard, I wonder if you realize how hard it is for me to find someone to take your place and fulfill your duties. I’ve been sent the message over and over that I am nobody’s child, and it’s hard. I struggle with this because I need for someone to do the things you didn’t do for me, but no one will. I have a friend, well more of a sister, who sometimes reminds me of a mom, but then reality hits. She doesn’t want to be my mom. It’s not that she can’t, it’s that she doesn’t want to. Did you know it would be this hard? That there would be plenty of capable people who just don’t want to be parents? I’m tired of being a nobody’s child, mom. I get so angry at you because you have failed, miserably, at your job. I get angry and wonder why you didn’t abort me or give me up for adoption. Remember when you used to tell me that if I didn’t behave you would send me to the orphanage? Why didn’t you? At least at that point I would have still had time to find someone who wanted me. You used to tell me that they feed you muck and that they treat you like animals at the orphanage, and I used to be terrified. I find myself wondering, sometimes, if that would have been so bad. You aren’t here now, so what difference would it have made. Mom, I miss you. The orphanage wasn’t enough to break that. Losing all these families wasn’t enough to break that. You are my mom and I find myself missing you more and more as time goes on. I hope that one day you will get your act together. I still don’t understand why, after 2 years, you are still doing everything in your will power to get the man who hurt me out of jail instead of changing your life. You are better than this. I have to go now, I have a lot to do. Just know, if you are reading this, that I think about you often and hope that you are okay. You’re my mom. I love you!