Letter to my Mother.

I remember the first time you really cut your wrist. The cop cars and ambulances flooded in front of our house. I was shaking so bad I was scared of you. I was only twelve. I remember the cop asking me if I knew where you put the razor, I had found your hiding spot before so I told him yes, because I was raised not to lie. He asked me to go show him where it was, so I took him to your bathroom. Blood was in the living room carpet, it looked like someone had been stabbed there was so much of it. The bathroom was worse. Blood was all over the sink and floor, but you had time to put the razor back in your hiding place before trying to storm out of the house. Imagine being twelve years old and seeing all this, knowing your mother just tried to kill herself, knowing she had gotten close. At first, when you and Dad were arguing, I was sitting in my closet, I had set it up as a reading place, and I would go there to hide and just read. I was there this day, listening to you two fight. When I came out I saw blood dripping from your wrist and Dad yelled at me to call 911. You tried to leave, but dad tried to stop you. Then you told people he was hitting you, but not once in 19 years did I see Dad ever raise his hand to you. I rarely heard him raise his voice to you. I believe the first time he did I was almost 17, and he was sticking up for one of us girls.

Thanksgiving when I was fifteen you threatened your life with a gun. You called my dad and told him to listen as you loaded the bullets into the gun. You told him “let’s see how many it takes”. You knew he would call the cops and so you hid the gun. I remember the next day when he was at work you were talking about hiding the gun in the back of his trunk, then having the cops search his car, so you could press charges for false reporting. I remember you telling me how you wanted him to go to jail and that would be the perfect way to do it. Come to find out, right after you had called my Dad, you called my grandma. And you told her how funny you thought it was because you knew we’d leave and come back home. The sad part, I bet you never once thought of how it would affect your daughters, to know their mom had a loaded gun and was threatening to kill herself that night. All I could think about on the drive home was walking in and seeing blood everywhere and my mother dead.

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