A letter to mom.

Dear mom,

I don't know where to start. Maybe I'll just start clean cut, from the start, or what I remember anyways.
You where never the perfect mother, not neverly close. Did I except you to be? No. Did I want you to be? No. All I wanted was for you to care, or to just show it. To not let me down, but hold me up. To help pick me up when I fell, but instead your the main reason I fell, and the thing is you never helped me up.
If I could ask you three question, I would ask: How could you tell your own daughter she was fat at nine years old? How could you give me so easy? How come you only call within months, and months?
But I wouldn't be done... I want to know what made you pick drugs over your own blood and flesh, why must you alway downsize me, Why won't you truly, really look at me? Is it because your scared you might just see yourself, or is it because you might not?
Why do you lie to yourself? Why do you put all the blame on me? Making it like I want nothing to do with you when I all want is you. Are you ever gonna wake up out your dream-state, or maybe even grow up?
I use to think it was me, just like you wanted everyone else, and me to think. But now I'm older, I understand. And I can't help but to hear the lies in your voice when you say 'I'm pretty' Pretty enough for you call fat right? Pretty enough for you to always point out some type of flaw right?
Yeah, excatully that.
I hope you understand that I'm not trying to bring you down, not at all. I hope you understand that all I want you to understand is me.
I love you mom.