There is a mother who says she loves her child. And yet every day another insult, another accusation, another declaration of hate. Why do you proceed to verbally attack us? To threaten us, to belittle us? What have we done to make you hate us. I don’t mean to make mistakes, but I’m not perfect. I know I’m not. But I try so hard to please you, and still you manage to shoot me down only minutes afterwards.

I think that you started hating me after you found out that I was cutting. I remeber your face. Was that pity and sadness, or disgust and comtempt? And even when I couldn’t give you the answer that you wanted, because it was the truth, you yelled at me. In my fragile state, sure. I have seriously contemplated starting again because of you and only you.

And stop blaming my father for everything . I’m sick of it. You already hate me, stop hating everyone else. Please. Can’t you see me begging you with my eyes?

No.

Stop hating me.

Please.

You’re killing me on the inside.

Because now… I’m cold.