Dear Mother,
It seemed only right that I should write you a letter too, since that is one of your ways of getting things off your chest. You should know that I am grateful for everything you’ve done for me, for every step you have take by my side, the support you have given, but I need you to understand why I get frustrated and have a hard time communicating with you and members of this family about certain situations.
It was not true when you claimed that you recommend I see a psychiatrist. You suggested a therapist to me, but never gave me the other idea. In fact, when I told you that I wanted to see one and even got a referral, you lectured and interrogated me and tried to make me feel like the problems I was having weren’t real and even just possibly from sleep deprivation. You need to understand that it wasn’t a matter of just one night I had the impulse to see Dr. Saxon and ask to see a psychiatrist. No. It was months and weeks of contemplating and convincing. I had to try so hard just to convince myself that I wasn’t wrong for doing so. Do you know how often I felt wrong for seeing a therapist because I was made to feel that my depression and “problems” were insignificant compared to others, especially those in this family. I had to tell myself that there was an actual problem I was having, that it wasn’t just out of jealousy or to feel special. After years and semesters of failing classes and falling behind, I knew I had to stop. I felt like a burden and failure, wasting everyone’s time and my father’s money. I was struggling so hard. When I finally made the decision to take it into my own hands and inquire for help, I thought you would be proud of me. But you weren’t. The very first night I saw Dr. G, you sat me down and told me how disappointed you were in me for deciding to take medication. And of course, as dad handed me my first bottle of pills he told me that he doesn’t think I need them. Then when I finally came out to Bear and Bunny, more lectures and disappointment. I still try though, when I up or down my dosage, I tell you, but every time I do, I still feel and hear how disappointed me you are, even if you don’t say it directly, it’s there, in the questions, in the need for you to hear me prove myself to you. I remember when I first saw Lauren after making the decision and I immediately jumped into explaining myself, and she was saying I didn’t need to. Then there was the fact that you had previously shown concern for me, too scared to let me stay home alone during the winter holidays, but not cautious enough to let me see a psychiatrist and get regulated help on medication?
You had given me a bit of a hard time for not having a job once, but the moment I started searching for one, you almost freaked out and became incredibly concerned. But you need to understand why I was desperate to get one. You wanted to rule it out to me wanting to be independent and responsible, and while I do want to be that, you were expecting me to pay $75 a month for my bus pass when I was only given $30 a month (to which you justified it as a means to encourage me to get my permit, but I hadn’t the time, money or resources to do that the semester you made me start. It felt incredibly unfair since you two had paid for Cat’s gas and car up until she was 21, and I had just turned 19). I wanted to be useful too, to those I love and in the household. The economy is so hard right now, and I hate asking for things, no matter how much I love to be spoiled. And then there’s the matter of a license and permit. You cannot say I didn’t try. I kept asking dad to sign me up for driver’s ed since I turned fifteen. Eventually he did, and so the day or two before the first day of my senior year, I took and failed my first test. They told me to come back in a week at the soonest, but it never happened for a number of reasons, some my fault as well, but I was preoccupied with my academic life. I finally got back to it and kept trying again at my permit test, I even made my own appointment and took the bus, which surprised you for some reason. And then, when I passed, I walked home because I was so proud of myself. But we were all too busy to teach me. Over winter break last year I had gotten a lesson from my friend, Stephen. He swung by our house and took me to American High and I learned a little bit. You can’t say that I never tried or took any initiative. I have even been more than willing to pay for my permit test this time around. I know it seems like I've been putting it off, but I've still been so preoccupied and a bit short on money, though that is fault of my own.
I know I get narcissistic and can be self-righteous brat at times, but believe me, I KNOW. I am well aware that I’m far from perfect and have my many flaws. I only act that way as a mean to help me forget that I am not that way. No one can call me on my bull better than I can. My depression is linked to a lot of self-deprecating thoughts a majority of the time, which I’m sure is something you could relate to with your past experiences, and probably to an even more severe degree. But just because my problems don’t make me want to end my life or hurt myself do not mean they are not problematic or very real to me. It hasn’t been easy, and I know it’s even harder for you, and I know it’s so hard for you to hear this, but you need to stop blaming yourself and thinking that I feel this way because you’re a bad parent. It’s not about you or that. It’s about miscommunications and misunderstandings, and forces beyond our control like genetics and life and then so much more.
I know I’ve been a bad sister to Bunny, and believe me when I say that I feel such incredible guilt for that, but you don’t understand how hard it is for me to deal with her. You’re her parent, her superior, etcetera and so on. I am her little sister. I used to look up to her so much and saw her as my epitome of beauty. Now all I can do is feel like an anxious mess incapable of currently getting along with the person that’s helped contribute to my self-deprecating thoughts and fears and other issues. I only bring this up because I know how important family is to you, it’s very important for me too, but I worry that you see me so negatively for how I am around my sister. I could not explain just how much panic and guilt I feel when I hear her voice raise. I go and lock my door and hope that will be enough, and seeing as how she once attacked my door, I feel like that my fear can be valid at times. I love her, but I feel like she judges every little thing I say.
I know I seem like I’m ever so happy and have my cool, but I struggle so much to even come off that way. I try my best to seem and be happy to keep those around me from feeling the way I do or worse. You have helped me through most of my life, and you and my father support me finically as well, without the two of you, I couldn’t see anyone for mental health or go to school, but I feel like you don’t understand were I’m coming from. I cringe so much writing this, feeling like such an ungrateful chit (not a typo) to you. But at the same time, it only feels fair. I’m glad you recognize my positive qualities and actions, but I wanted to explain the others. I don’t know if I’ve said too much or if I should even say any of this. I’m not trying to hurt you, I’m not trying to ridicule or belittle you, but I just want to inform you.
With all my love,
Royal Fae
Post Script:
There is something I'd like to say when it comes to Muffin as well. I understand you not wanting me to get pregnant out of wedlock to protect me, my body, and my future, but whether or not I have an active sex life should not change how you see me. When I tell you that I am not going to get pregnant anytime soon, even if I was sharing a bed every night with Muffin, because it's NOT possible, and that's not because of the birth control, I mean it! Besides the fact that there is nothing I can't do in a bed at night that I couldn't do any other time or place. I've slept next to Muffin countless amounts of times, full house or home alone, being in a bed at night will not change anything. Sleeping next to someone does not equate to sex or sexual acts. Even if it does, it shouldn't be the reason for the way you see me. I am your child and you should not need to think of me in such ways. And I don't understand how you can regret letting Bear and Erick share a room (even way before talk of engagement) when there was nothing to regret that came out of it. They didn't get pregnant out of wedlock, are now happily married, and expecting their first child. I don't crave to sleep next to Muffin so I can commit sexual acts with him. It is the closeness and comfort I seek.
I know it's hard for you to believe that I suffer from an occasionally severe depression, but the night you made him leave my room was a night I was at a very big low. I had already woke up that morning feeling depressed and hopeless (I had been having a hard time focusing, staying awake, or being interested in tasks that I enjoyed), only to have my heart crushed by being refused by Spirit Halloween. Not only was I unable to finish my job at a workplace I loved, an environment I felt so at home and comfortable in, but now I would be a burden to those around me. I had no job and no one that I applied to that was hiring called me back despite it being over a week. I wanted to finally start paying rent. I wanted to be working, useful, not a total shut in. I had to lay on Muffin's floor and cry it out after it happened, not being able to fathom telling the rest of the family since I was sure to have a meltdown again.
That night, I was going to talk to Muffin, ask him to hang out with me in my room to keep me sane, I was crushing up inside, but felt like I'd be a burden and nuisance, so stood their holding his doorknob for a solid minute or two before taking position in front of his door like a beggar. I couldn't bring myself to go inside and bother him, but took comfort in listening in to him, being distracted from my thoughts. It wasn't until half an hour later when he opened the door I was leaning against that he discovered I had been there. He finished his business and decided to join me. I hadn't meant to be loud, but it was a much welcomed distraction to me that I was being inconsiderate of my surroundings. After he left I have a full blown breakdown because I was left alone with no way to distract myself. I cried from 2AM-4AM and had self-harming thoughts that scared me very much since I NEVER get those. And I did end up bitting myself and clenched my arm with my nails to cause a distraction from the pain. I had a good 10 minutes of just silently staring out my window, jaw agape, whilst drool, snot, and tears rolled off my face and into my lap. I needed the support, and I'm sorry to say, but I would have denied yours. It's hard to accept help from those who make you feel as though you don't need it.
Perhaps I said too much on this, but I was just hoping you understand why I needed him that night. I respect your rules and do not expect you to eliminate any, but if only you'll alter or ease them a little when it comes to that. Instead of staying in a bed with him, I'll gladly sleep on the couch.
I believe I've told you my views on marriage before. As of this point in time, the legal definition of marriage is binding people financially. The spiritual form is very sweet and like the icing on the cake. But the deities are always watching. Mother Nature is always surrounding. Little rituals are almost unnecessary when you love someone enough to want to spend your life with them. If it would change your views on my closeness with Muffin, we'd both gladly get civilly married (he has stated this to me, so I mean it when I say both), though it would put us in a sport of financial trouble. We'd even be willing to get married in a not legal but spiritual and religious sense. To me, we are already bound, though. We are partners and will continue to be whether a piece of paper or a God or Goddess says so or not. I will spend the rest of my life with him in sickness and in health, I will love him full hearted, to be mine and to hold, and I will feel this exact way whether or not I had a piece of paper from a judge and/or ritual led by a priest or high priestess.
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