Dear mother,
I love you,
but I don't,
don't know what to do.

I've not felt right,
for so long,
I don't know what's left,
I feel so wrong.

I've walked a lonely road,
leading away from society,
been drinking too much,
and long for sobriety.

It's why I look so sad,
even though I say I'm okay,
It's why I have so much fun,
but come home with bloodied fists
at the end of each day.

I can put on that smile,
wear it with bright eyes,
but as soon as I'm alone,
the light dies.

I'm not sure what to do now,
so I write to you mother,
I know you have been through this,
we are a lot alike each other.

I hope you understand,
why I've hid this from you,
because I don't want to worry about me,
or what I might do.

I don't like pills,
or men in white,
so I've made my own therapy,
and I've learned to write.

I am painting this dark picture,
so you know how bad I can feel,
but I end on hope,
that maybe I can heal.

It certainly ain't a cure,
I don't think there is one,
but there is easement,
and I'm certainly not done.

So for now I write this letter,
and head off to bed.

Yours Lovingly,

ED