In kindergarten, he wasn't even there to see me off.
She was there everyday.
In third grade, I believed all his lies, he was my favorite parent.
She was too bossy.
In sixth grade, he understood everything, he was my best friend.
She didn't understand anything.
In seventh grade, I figured it out, he's a fake.
She knew what was yet to come.
In ninth grade, his whole world flipped over.
She stood behind me.
In the next summer, he had no clue I tried to end my life.
She strived to keep me alive.
In tenth grade, I recieved my diagnosis. He said it doesn't exist.
She tried to understand the differences in people.
And here I am in eleventh grade, mad at myself for believing his lies for all too long.
Mad because I wasn't worth the truth, mad because I made a fake of him,
mad because he caused my mental disorders and he doesn't care.
Mad because I treated her so bad for so long, mad because it took me so long to figure out,
mad because bad things happen to good people, mad because she always had my back,
mad because she has always been my biggest supporter.
I'm so sorry Mom, I love you more than anything.
Don't leave me.
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