Did you know? Or did you just not care?

Mom,

You’ve read my words on this blog and I’ve tried to explain the anger from my side, but I still have received no real apology or any comfort from the idea that you may be remorseful.

Did you know that in three instances the way I found out you were going back to prison was from teachers’ and classmates’ snide remarks at school?

Did you know that I got a blanket from the DCFS worker the day that we were taken from you and I clenched that blanket and cried nearly every night for months? And the only reason the monthly streak of crying out for you ended was because I gave up the hope that I would ever even see you again?

Did you know that sometimes I’d wonder if your death would comfort me so I’d have closure that you were okay instead of wondering if you were out on the streets?

Did you know that the first time I ever saw your mugshot was when I Googled my name in my freshman computers class?

Did you know that every basketball game I played in I scanned the gymnasium hoping that you’d be there? You never were.

Did you know that it’s because of you that my first tendency when experiencing trauma is to get so angry I want to punch a wall? I held so much anger for the greater part of my life that I still have a hard time finding the healthy way to release it?

Did you know I held a handful of pills in eighth grade because I didn’t want to feel the pain anymore?

Did you know I cut my wrist with a broken razor blade just so I could feel pain that was physical instead of emotional?

Did you know? Or did you just not care?

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