Open Letter to My Parents; who didn’t believe in me,
I am so thankful for all that you do for me. You truly do everything you can to provide a home and food for me, that of which I am very grateful for. You raised me and bought me plenty of materialistic things, which I am also very very grateful for.
What I am not thankful for is the way you make me feel emotionally and even mentally. Just one time I would like to hear that you’re proud of me without having to ask; “Mom are you proud?” “Did you see that Dad?! Wasn’t it good?” Just one time I would like to come home from school and get asked how school was instead of being yelled at the second I walk in the door. Just one time I want to feel loved. I just want to know that my own parents actually care. Just one time I want you to ask me about my grades, about sports, about the music I listen to. Ask me anything.
But I also want to thank you. Thank you for teaching me that I only need myself to succeed, because you were never there for me, not a single time. I learned that I only needed to make myself happy, and that is exactly what I’m doing. I do not need you anymore, and that’s pretty sad, but you pushed me away. Congrats!
So to the parents who didn’t believe in me, who didn’t hear me crying myself to sleep, who didn’t notice all the weight I lost, who didn’t come support me at my sporting events, or show up to parent teacher conferences, thank you. Thank you for making a 17 year old hate life so much that all she wants is for it to end, all because you didn’t support and believe in her. Thank you.

You are the one that taught me to become heartless, then you got upset because that means I became heartless when it came to you too.
e.g

Trying to explain how depression actually feels to a person who doesn't know is very difficult.
We sometimes say "It's like drowning, except you can see everyone around you breathing"
or we try to describe how you just feel empty. But how do you explain the feeling of being empty? dark, cold, scary?
sometimes you can't even explain it. sometimes it doesn't feel like anything. Sometimes you're just alive and you dont know why

All I want is to be enough.
I want to be skinny enough, tall enough, pretty enough.
All I want is to be enough.
I want to look in the mirror and not hate everything I see.
I want to wake up in the morning and not wish that I was still sleeping.
Because when you sleep, you escape reality.
And in reality I am not enough.

All I want is to be enough.

I'm struggling with what it means to be a woman.
Does it mean that I am always in competition to be the top of my species?
Does it mean that I need to be perfect without a single curve out of line in order to find love?
Does it mean that I am only defined when owned by a man?
Does it mean that I can only find purpose in childbirth?
Does it mean that I will forever live in the shadow of men?
Does it mean that I am an object invented solely for a man's pleasure?
Does it mean that I'm forced to confine to gender roles and live in someone else's story?
Does it mean that I'm supposed to accept it when I'm harassed from across the street?
Does it mean that I'm supposed to lie there silent when he puts his hands up my skirt?
Does it mean that I am only worth 77 cents to a man’s dollar?
Does it mean that I am defined by my looks rather than my intelligence?
Does it mean that I will never be capable of holding a major position of power due to my mood swings?
Does it mean that I am defined by how many men I have had *** with?
Or does it mean something else entirely.
It's difficult learning to love being a woman.
Obvious and damaging disadvantages are visible to observers.
We are regarded as second best, property of our man.
We are erased from history, our pain is minimized and forgotten.
We are oppressed and have to fight for our rights.
We are afraid to walk the streets at night, afraid for our lives.
We are harassed without care and without penalty.
We are ***** and murdered for refusing proposals.
We are expected to live on the sidelines as a housewife whose only priority should be her children.
We are expected to keep quiet in situations of domestic abuse.
We are expected to be perfect, and pretty, fresh for a man’s picking.
We can’t even advocate for our own equality without being demonized.
There are times where I wish I wasn’t a woman.
Being a woman comes with innumerable expectations, pressures, and responsibilities.
My existence is not defined by a man, or by the patriarchal expectations that have been placed on me.
I am breaking free of my confinements and I’m not afraid to admit that,
I'm struggling with what it means to be a woman. And that's okay.
//sarahmann

I am tired, exhausted really.
I’m not getting enough sleep. Not enough is going my way.
Writing takes a piece of my soul and turns into words while meaningless by themselves becomes something with power.
Life doesn’t feel vibrant and colorful like I know it sometimes can be.
Life has instead been replaced with a gloomy, apathetic relative.
Life has been treating me unfairly, despite my best efforts.
It has left me broken and bruised and bleeding in the middle of the battlefield.
Despite my cries, nobody hears me as I continue to disintegrate into a shriveling pile of nothing.

I feel like I’m losing. No, I know that I’m losing.
Because see it’s not the battles that matter, it’s the war.
Things have changed, I’m slowly coming back to the person I used to be, unhappy with myself and with life.
I’m completely terrified of this thought but far too tired to resist.
I don’t know how to reverse, I don’t know how to find happiness.
I have lost the road map, I’m scrambling for a hand hold or some sort of sign.

I’m too tired to fight.
I’m too tired to be happy.
I’m too tired to focus on school work.
I’m too tired to push myself through 6 hours of homework a night.
I’m too tired to carry around a 40 pound backpack from class to class.
I’m too tired to find balance between healthy habits and what reality holds.
I’m too tired to effectively manage my time, I would rather self-sabotage.
I’m too tired to write, I’ve already said this.
Maybe if I got more sleep, not so much in my life would be wrong.  
I like to think that the majority of my life’s problems would be fixed with a little more balance.
Perhaps my life would look a little more like my aspirations.
Perhaps I would be happier and my eyes filled with more ambition.
Perhaps my notebooks would be filled to the brim with intelligent ideas and beautifully crafted writing.
Perhaps my life would look more like the plot to a cheesy indie film with the protagonist figuring everything out during a montage set to sentimental music. I would enjoy that.
Or
Perhaps nothing would change. And everything I imagined is nothing but an impossible world created by fractured idealist’s fuel and fabricated fiction.
I’m exhausted and tired of putting my ideas out only to have them rejected.
But that’s what writing is about. Reality, and pushing through.

Writing isn’t supposed to be infused with sugar-coated metaphors and avoidance of the truth.
Writing isn’t supposed to be lies, although that narrative is proposed often.
Writing isn’t supposed easy.
Writing is supposed to be about emotion.
Writing is about failure.
Writing is about heartbreak.
Writing is supposed to be about the rough times as much as it is about the good times.
Writing is real.
Writing is exposure.
Writing is powerful, simply because of the truth behind it.

So I will continue to write even when I don’t feel like it.
I will continue to face reality, head on with a stare colder than ice.
I will write because it’s not supposed to be easy.