I am a chameleon
Black, white, red or blue I’ll be whoever you want me to.
In therapy I’m told it’s because I don’t know who I actually am, but the thing is there I am also a chameleon.
While sitting in that uncomfortable leather chair I’m a girl unsure- broken by the weight the world places on my shoulder but outside of that room I’m more sure of myself then I am sure of the laws of gravity.

I am a chameleon
Most days my name is Emma, other days its Emilia and on the rare occasion its Ellie. It may seem a little odd to you to have so many different names but I think it’s because I truly am different people.
See Emma is serious, but she has a fun side, while Emilia is fun with a serious side. Ellie is that broken girl from the uncomfortable chair while Emilia is always smiling never feeling an ounce of pain. Emma, well she’s broken too, but in a different way- that dosen’t matter much though because there is no way in hell she will let anyone see that.

I am a chameleon
But not in a disingenuous way. I’m not trying to lie or make you like me. Don’t get me wrong, I want you to like me, but I learned long ago that no matter how hard I try there will always be someone who doesn’t.

I am a chameleon
Because I love you so much it hurts, that’s why I want you to have a version of me you flel in love with. The person I truly am changes with the tide- she is far to disconcerting. So for you I will pretend that I find “Grey’s Anatomy” enjoyable or that I like eating eggs because you deserve some shred of consistency.

I am a chameleon
I hide from the world by blending into the background- it’s safer that way. Not just for me, but for you to. That way I can only show the parts of me that is safe for you to see. The heaviest pieces that have caused so many people to run will remain invisible.
You tell me you want to see. You tell me that you want to carry my burdens. The thing is, others have tried but, eventually, they are all crushed under the weight of my brokenness. So, I am not afraid that you will leave, I am afraid that you will stay.



I am a chameleon
Because I choose to be. See if I blend in then you can’t get too close to me. The farther away you are, the less it will hurt should I disappear and the last thing I want to do is hurt you.
So…

I am a chameleon
Because I haven’t truly decided if I am going to stay yet.

My last words to you were “I’ll see you later”.

Not “you mean the world to me” or “I would die for you” or “I love you”. Nothing that mattered, nothing that was real.  

I wonder why we say that. “I’ll see you later”. It’s a promise. A ridiculous vague promise that we know we can’t always keep.

I want to try again. I know we can’t rewrite history. I know that no matter how loud I scream you will never hear me. But I cannot say goodbye until I have let these words out of my aching soul. So here they, far too late.

I understand why you’re leaving. I know it’s selfish, but I wish it was me instead of you. You were always stronger, more equip for this life. You always  lead me through pain, how am I supposed to face it without you?

I’d give anything for you to stay for one more moment. To make one more snarky comment. To hear your voice just one more time. We didn’t get enough minutes, but I suppose even forever with you wouldn’t have been long enough.

I love you far more than I love myself. It doesn’t always seem that way, but you have seen my heart and held it in your hands. Didn’t you notice how it beat for you, spelling out your name over and over again? Did you realize I love you unconditionally? Did you know that I would burn down the entire world for you?

I want you to know, that all those years ago when I told you I hated you for making us walk away, it wasn’t true. In fact, I knew in the deepest part of my soul that it was what needed to be done but I didn’t have the strength to do it myself. So, when I said I hated you I actually meant that I hated me.

As these words come off of my lips I am starting to realize that I cannot do this without you. Please don’t go. Don’t leave me alone. I’m not going to make it. I won’t survive.

But if you must, I hope you find peace where ever end up. This life took so much and made you so **** tired, I hope you can finally rest.

Before you go, I have one last thing to say:

You mean the world to me, I would die for you and I love you.

I have put you in a box in the back of my wardrobe.

You live there, safe and sound next to old hats and sweaters.
Sometimes I see your box and I run my hands across the bulging sides but never do I open in it for fear that you might escape. I tell myself that you are safer there, imprisoned inside that box. After all, if I don’t have to see you I don’t have to miss you, right?

I say these lies over and over again until I believe them because the truth is a pill too bitter for me to swallow, and I’ve swallowed a lot of pills in my life.

The truth is, not all of you fits in the box in my wardrobe. Hell, I don’t think you could fit in a thousand bulging boxes - you were always so big.  

See, the rest of you resides in the back of my mind, taking up my every thought, everything thing reminds me of you and it’s getting to the point where I can see nothing else but your face.
Even though I tell myself I don’t miss you, we both know that is not true because I used to miss you when we were apart for mere moments so how could I possibly not miss you when it’s been days and weeks and months and years and it just doesn’t make any sense…

It doesn’t make any sense that I have to lock you away because we were supposed to be together forever.
Our future was matching houses right next door to each other, our children running back and forth, never asking if they could come in because the answer would always be yes. We would car pool to soccer games, school plays, dance class and graduations, not because we needed to, but because the thought of doing these things without the other made us sick to our stomachs. And when our kids were all gone we’d retire together- two old women in rocking chairs staring out at the shore, laughing and crying about all the life we had lived. This future wasn’t a dream, it was a distant reality – we were so sure of that. Do you remember when we were so sure?

I can’t seem to forget a single second of you, even the ones that burn holes in my chest and make me hate every ounce of myself.

I remember, so well, when I knew you like I knew the back of my hand – Actually, scratch that, I knew you better then I knew the back of my hand because when I was with you I never had the chance to look down.

Every line on your face, every crease in your fingers was more familiar to me than my own heartbeat, you knew me the exact same way.

I remember when, at the end of a long day, all I wanted to do was retire next to you because that’s where I was safest, the world couldn’t touch me, I was home.
You were my home.

You still are.

I think that’s why, as hard as I try I can never feel comfortable. I can never rest. Because I haven’t felt home since that day four years ago when we walked away.

You cannot be my home anymore.

See, just recently I have found a new home. It is a place that grants me invincibility- I dive off of cliffs into shallow water and jump out of airplanes without parachutes yet I’m just fine. The only catch is that I cannot take you with me.

So, I’ve set fire to the box in the back of my wardrobe, and as it is burning I am finally learning how to live without you.
But do not fear, even when the box is nothing but ashes that are scattered at opposite ends of the earth I will still remember the days in which I believed that the entire world was made up of just you and I.

And when I am an old woman in a rocking chair staring out at the shore, I will certainly be thinking about you.

Dear Little Sister,
I saw you today for the very first time today. You were screaming and crying, like you knew that you had just been born into a truly insane family. I’m sorry about that by the way.
I don’t know why God chose you for us. I have enough sisters, I really don’t need another one. But, here you are, so I guess I have to live with it.
Your timing was terrible. Like everyone in our family, you’re running late. Years late.
I forgive you though. If I had your parents, I would’ve put of being born as long as could to.

Dear Little Sister,
You projectile vomited onto my backpack right as I was about to leave for school today.  If this is an analogy for the rest of our lives, I’m gonna have to send you back.

Dear Little  Sister,
As you get older you are going to learn that our family is a little bit weird. I promise that other people’s parents don’t take them to break into music festivals at the ripe age of two. Also, I think you would be hard pressed to find another mom that can burn pasta as badly as yours can.
I have to be honest with you. Not all of the things that make our family weird are good.
Most nights our dad picks up a bottle and doesn’t put it down until he’s not really our dad anymore. When I was little I don’t think there was anything I was more afraid of.
Don’t worry little one, this will not be your story. I’m here now, and I will be a warrior for you.
I’m mostly telling you this because I want you to know that this is not how its’ supposed to go. Most other dads don’t pick up bottles, and when they do most moms don’t close their eyes to it.
I don’t want you to grow into a person who grabs a bottle because no one ever taught you there was another way.

Dear Little Sister,
I know it was scary this morning when I wouldn’t wake up. You did such a good job of being brave while everyone made sure I was alright.
Right now you are too young to understand, but someday you are going to figure out that people can be sick even if they look fine on the outside. Sometimes sickness lives inside our minds rather than in our bodies. That’s what happened to me.
These sickness can be tricky, like Pete from Mickey Mouse Club House. They can make you think that you don’t want to be around anymore or that everyone else would be happier if you went away. My sickness convinced me of that last night.
I tried to leave and I’m so sorry I did. I want you to know that I love you enough to stay, but sometimes my mind gets too cloudy for me to see that. I promise it won’t happen again.

Dear Little Sister,
It happened again.

Dear Little Sister,
I love you. I love everything about you. I love the way you put your ear to my chest and say “*****, I can hear your heart beep”. I love how you wiggle your toes as you are falling asleep, just like I do. I even love it when you steal half of my cheesecake and pretend the dog ate it, even though we don’t have a dog.
There is nothing I wouldn’t do to keep you safe, happy and healthy. Even if it meant losing everything I love. Even if I had to die for it.
That is why, my love, you cannot have another piece of candy.

Dear Little Sister,
I’m leaving today.
I know what your thinking- and its’ not like before.
I can come back from place I am going. I’ll still live in this world with you rather than in the ground, you don’t have to say goodbye.
I’m going to live in this place so that I can grow taller and I might be a little different the next you see me, but I’ll still be the person who picked you up when cried in the middle of the night all those years ago.
When you were very little I promised that I’d always protect you, and that is still true. Don’t doubt that for a single second. The only difference is that now I’ll be doing it from affair, think of me as your guardian angel. You may not often see me, but I’m still there.
I know that you hear daddy talk about how easy it is for me to go, but that is not true. My heart is breaking, leaving you feels like leaving a piece of myself behind. And if I could stay I would, but I’m not meant for this place anymore.
I love you.
I have since the moment I saw you.
Thank you for being born, even if you were very very late.
Love,
Emma

Sometimes I wake up in the middle night and I can feel your anxiety
Even though we are 373 miles apart
2 years apart
787 days apart
I can still feel the way it settles in your chest
Because your heart is a phantom limb.
Even though long ago someone took it away, my body just can’t seem to comprehend that it’s gone.

The Last Good Day was eggs and bacon and toast
   Disgusting cafeteria chicken tenders
   Grilled cheese sandwiches made in the microwave
The Last Good Day was a Geometry test
   An English essay
   A Chemistry Quiz
The Last Good Day was Valentine's day
   With the chocolate and flowers
   Heart shaped cards and winged infants wielding dangerous
  weapons
The Last Good Day was you
   You, with the same light that always made me feel like home
   You, with that smile I could trace with my eyes closed
   You, before the coldness moved in, making your face so
  unrecognizable that I was sure you where a different person.
It's been five years since the Last Good Day and I still remember
  every second of it. When I close my eyes, I swear I can hear you
  saying goodnight, for the last time.
The funny thing about the Last Good Day is that you never realize
  it's the Last Good Day until it's over. If you did, you'd drink it in
  and bask in its warmth. But, you don't get the chance, because to
  you, it's just another good day.

Dear God, are you there?
I can’t seem to feel your warmth anymore. You had your arms wrapped around me so tightly before.

God, why can’t I hear you?
I swear I am doing my best to listen. Are you ignoring me because of my skepticism?

God, do you hate me?
I know I have wronged you so many times. Have you decided to at last punish me for my crimes?

God, why can’t I see you?
You are becoming so hard for me to behold. It’s like I am wearing a thick blindfold.

God, are you angry?
I know that lately I haven’t been good. I was just trying to do the best that I could.

God, why did you take them?
You know they meant more to me than the whole world. Without them I am slowly becoming unfurled.

God, will you ever come back?
I miss you so much that my heart aches. I promise I’ll make up for all my mistakes.

God, can you forgive me?
I’m sorry that I all have ever done is hurt you. I never paid you the respect you were due.


God, will you help me?
I have started to make marks on my skin. I do not think I can survive this again.

God, can I come home?
I often ask you to die in my sleep. I want this so bad that most nights I weep

God, do you love me?
That’s all anyone every seems to say. But, why do you then ignore me ever time that I pray.

God, I’m so sorry.
I want to apologize for everything that I am. I know in my heart I deserve to be ******.

Amen

Please stop telling me that I want to die.
I have woken up, every morning for the past seven years to you whispering into my ear “today is the day”. And every morning I tell you no, I remind you of all I have, of all the people that I love. I explain how dying would hurt them. How, even though I’m not good, I still play an important part in this world.
It sounds so easy, to just say no.
It’s not.
See, some days it’s just a whisper. Barely audible over the chatter in my mind. But, some days, you are screaming. I can hear nothing else but you saying “Today is the day” over and over again. Those days I have to grit my teeth and force myself to say no, even if I so badly want you to be right.
Those days come more often now. And even when you are just a whisper it is becoming harder and harder to resist.
Twice before I haven’t said no. Both times God stepped in and said no for me. I was made to live anther day.
But these times haven’t come without consequence. Each occasion has caused more cracks in the dilapidated foundation of our family. I have been left with a failing body and a broken heart that is still yet to recover. Each time I become less and less human, losing large chunks of my self. So I need you to stop whispering in my ear, because if it happens again I don’t think I’ll have anything left.
Can’t you just take satisfaction in the fact that you are winning. Every whisper from you makes my fingers itch for the razor blade stashed away in my room. When I close my eyes I often see images of myself stepping out in front of a car or swallowing pills or jumping off a tall building. You are winning my mind; can’t that be enough for you? Why do you need to take more?
So, I ask again, please stop telling me that I want to die because one day I just might believe you.