Dear Mamma,
You have always been there for me. Always. I have come home and cried in your arms so many times. The day we let Peach go, the day I fought with nearly all my friends, the last days of school- you've helped me through it all.
I'm in hostel now, and I miss you so much. I miss not having you around, I miss not hearing you tinkering about in the kitchen, or laughing and arguing with my sister. I miss not being able to walk out of my room just to see you. I miss you so much, Ma! Far more than you'll ever know.
Something's happened to me, Mamma. I broke up with my boyfriend, and that's okay. But he hurt me, and that's not. I don't know how to deal with it. It bothers me; every hour, every day. I've told you a little about it - I told you that I had fought with my friend because he went around talking badly about me and another friend. But I didn't tell you he was my boyfriend. I didn't tell you how much he meant to me. And I didn't tell you how much it hurt.
Oh, Mamma. I wish I could tell you. I wish I could just let it all go, just tell you everything. I know I'd feel better, I know I'd feel that sense of relief that always follows talking to you. I know I'd be okay. But I can't. Boyfriends aren't accepted in our family. It's an unspoken rule; an unspoken, un-breachable rule.
I haven't been okay, Ma. Not for the last three months, but in particular for the last month. Being away from you is hard, but being unable to explain what's going on with me is harder.
We were never a very emotional family. Our family doesn't discuss emotions and feelings so much- we were always about getting the job done quickly and efficiently. We don't FEEL things, or if we do, we don't talk about it. We deal with our emotions quietly, and then sweep them under the carpet. We don't let the world see them, we always seem to be perfectly okay.
Dada and I were never close. We got on each other's nerves. He couldn't deal with my wishy-washiness and I couldn't deal with his controlling nature. You denied, of course, that he was a control freak, but I think even you knew it.
You and I always shared a special bond. You and I were quirky, a little bit crazy. We found the smallest of jokes funny; the darkest of days, beautiful. You and I were soul sisters, and I miss you. I miss you, Ma.
There's so much I've hidden from you, Ma. I stopped writing a few years back. I don't think you realised. You never knew how much my writing meant to me, because I never told you. I LOVED writing. I loved watching my thoughts flow onto paper, I loved watching words and phrases twist and turn into sentences. I could write without thinking, just endlessly. I loved writing, and I didn't tell you.
When I stopped, I lost a bit of myself. It was like a thread come loose- it unraveled a little more everyday. It hurt. I didn't do anything about it though. I stopped writing for nearly three years, Ma. It has been three years since I wrote something even passably decent.
It took this incident to break through my block. It took a whirlpool of emotions to break through that barricade of inability and allow me to just write. It's coming back, albeit slowly. But it's coming back.
So many things are happening, one after another. Every time I think I'm okay, another bomb shell drops. Every time I think I'll get a little breathing space, I'm struck down again.
People I thought I knew so well surprise me; people I thought would never leave, depart; people I thought hated me, love me. I don't understand. It's so confusing. Do I not know my friends? Do I still not understand them as well as I think I do?
I haven't been okay in a while, Mamma. But I'm working on it. I'm working on pulling myself out of this slump. I'm working on being okay. It's hard, especially with you not here. But I'm trying. I'm not giving up.
I wish I could post this letter to you, but I can't. Some things, unfortunately, will remain forever unsaid. There are somethings you'll never know, although I wish you did.
I love you, Mamma. With all my heart. I love you, and I miss you, and I want to come home soon.
Love,
Your daughter.