A girl who can not cope with teenage life and finally talks to her mother through a letter
|The latest letter:
There are so many things I been trying and meaning to talk to you about, and yet the chance never comes up, or if it does I seem to shy away from the opportunity to bring these matters to light.
I love you very much Mammy, and you are a wonderful mother, but there are so many things in our household, and our lifestyles that I have problems with.
I know that you are always there to support me, but there are such a numerous amount of things which I find myself unable to speak to you about.
You and Johnny (no I will not call him "Dad” he is not my “dad”) have been very reasonable with regard to how I have matured, but teenagers today are not what you think they are. Teenage drinking, drug-taking, and sex are not rare, nor are they the stuff of stories told to get us to behave. Going drinking for a birthday is a regular occurrence and something which is a social norm. Even the night of Josephine’s birthday, I was left with Daniel and Kieran because everyone else went off drinking in town or at Hillary’s house, completely unbeknownst to her parents who were fast asleep.
I find it highly insulting that simply because I am intellectually mature I am expected to be socially “immature” and excluded because I am too “sensible” to drink or try drugs. It has nothing to do with “sense” or “reason”, I don’t want to disappoint you, and I try so hard to live up to be the kind of daughter you wish you had, but socially, and emotionally, that is a battle which I fight during my every waking hour.
Most of my “friends” drink regularly; the majority of my peers have tried at least one drug; a fair share of people in my year have had sex, and this is no longer something I want you left in the dark about.
I try so hard to be good, and sensible, but I am still only 15, and the pressure of my social surroundings can only be ignored to a certain point.
I’m sorry, but I cannot trust you or Johnny to talk about the problems I have, because these problems are no longer issues which are acceptable to your notion of the things which someone my age should be dealing with.
Yes, I get beat up. I’m a nerd, I get bullied it’s part of life and I don’t expect that to change, nor do I want a fuss made over it, but I’m tired of you feeling like you have to fight my battles for me, or even that you can, or should.
I am my own person, and I am not about to change that for you, or for anyone who thinks I do not fit into their preconceptions of the norm for my age category. I mean, when it gets to the stage that I cannot even talk to my own mother about shaving my legs, or issues with guys, or being picked on, in my opinion that is a sure sign that something is radically wrong.
I am sick of being just another one of your problems, of being just like every other problem in the sense that you believe if you ignore it for long enough it will go away.
I don’t want to bottle up my fears and my anger to the point that the smallest of things can set me in a foul mood, but it seems that within the routines of our household, that is the only plausible option.
I’m scared. Simple as that. I’m scared of being alone; I’m scared of letting you down; I’m scared of how fast Sarah is growing up and that soon she will consider herself too old to hug her sister and tell her she loves her. I’m scared of moving out and having to sustain my own lifestyle; I’m scared of failing; I’m scared of wasting away my life.
There are so many things which I stress about constantly. I don’t deal well with failure, or with disappointing you. For instance, when you found those Heineken cans in my room, I just shut down on interrogation, of course me and my friend drank some of them together but if you had dug deeper you would have found the empty packets of 37 Nurofen and 12 Panadol before I discovered you couldn’t overdose on ibuprofen even mixed with alcohol.
Yes, you read that right, I wanted to die. I’m tired of thinking of a way to do it without it being emotionally traumatising for Sarah. I’m tired of crying myself to sleep knowing all the ways I have failed you. I can’t keep going like this, I’m running on empty.
I’m such a different person than you think I am, and the only place I can really be myself is at CTYI. Everyone is so understanding, and so different; those reunions are literally my lifeline.
I’m sick of you treating me like a baby, and yet expecting me to be overly mature in other aspects of my life.
You were so worried about me going to stay at Diarmaid’s house, but I am bisexual, does that mean that from now on you are going to panic every time I ask if Carol can come over, or if I can stay the night at Josephine’s.
I am so angry at having to have so many different facades for different people or different social atmospheres. I need to be able to talk to you, because sometimes a hug just doesn’t cut it.
I don’t understand how our lifestyle has gotten this far, things are just so out of sync. I also don’t understand what is going on with you and Johnny and I’m sick of not knowing whether I should approach the two of you with caution or not because sometimes you are all over each other, and it makes me physically sick because I know that in five minutes some minor tiff will mean that you are no longer talking, and I know that I brought my opinions on all of this to light in August, but as usual I was never made part of any discussions and the only change made was a greater (failure)effort to hide things from me.
I’m sure that at this stage you are sick of my complaints and you most likely think that this is simply the ravings of a melodramatic, hormonal teenager, but I meant every word I have said, and I haven’t even skimmed the top of the pond of the issues I am dealing with so if you want to ignore this as usual then fine, FUCK YE BOTH, I’m not dealing with YOUR melodramatic bullshit anymore because you are too wrapped up in your current soap opera plot.
I TRY MY VERY FUCKING BEST, and I love you Mammy, very much, but I am no longer willing to push my true self aside for your convenience so I’m sorry but sometimes I need to cry, and sometimes I’m in a huff, but take a look in the mirror before you criticise me for getting moody.
My apologies, I never meant for this letter to turn disrespectful or “wilfully disobedient”, as Johnny would say (like I’m some sort of dog), but I am taking this chance to air my opinions so I’m sorry.
I love you Mam, but I do not love your husband and I have had my fill of both of your mood swings and sometimes I just need a hug.
I love you, very very much, and you are a wonderful amazing mother, and I don’t know what I would do without you so don’t you ever forget how much of a marvellous parent you are, so I’m sorry.
I love you.