I don't own Twilight

My Letters To You

/Chapter 2/

I spoke to your mom today.

I can imagine your reply to that. "Duh, you work for my mom."

Is it weird that I can literally hear your voice so clearly in my head right now? That slightly mocking tone of yours that lets me know just exactly how superior you are. Maybe I'm delusional. Or maybe I'm just missing you the point where I desperately want to hear your voice again so my brain makes things up. Either way, it has always been a funny place inside my head. But that's old news to you, isn't it?

It's hard for me to see your parents every day at work. Why did I choose to work for your mom, again? I mean, yeah, I needed the money. Little old me, the college dropout - I can't do anything right, can I?

It would be helpful if you'd explain why your parents think that I refuse to speak to you. Would you mind explaining why they think I'm jealous? Of her of all people. Lying to your parents again, aren't you? This is one of the few things that has always bothered me the most about you. It still does. You lie about everything to them. You don't know how good you have it. You've traveled the world thanks to them, seen places in your still young life that most people never will. They bought you a huge house that you have all to yourself. Never in your life will you have to face poverty or mundane tasks as the rest of us, humble people. It's all thanks to them, and yet you're still telling them shit about the most minor things.

By the way, there's a name for that disease. It's called Pseudologia Phantastica. You can google it.

So while you're parking your lazy, carefree ass on your comfy couch all the damn time - taking everything for granted, simply wielding your scepter - here I am fearing for my grandma. The only companion I have left in this shitty world - now that you're out of the picture.

God, do I wish your couch would go up in flames... right under your ass.

Gran's not feeling well at all. She's getting so much older. The clusterfuck that is my life only precipitates her aging process. She's lost so much weight. The wrinkles on her face grow deeper each passing moment and reflect a life full of hard work and too much worry. Her blood pressure borders on life-threatening. Then, of course, there's her cardiac defect. Her condition causes the bile to rise up in my throat. My hands become clammy just thinking about it. When the day comes that she's not here anymore, I might go ballistic or fall to pieces. I might end up like the year-old cupcake, still left in my fridge; long forgotten and possibly poisoning.

Do you actually care about Gran? I know she loves you, though she thinks I've always put you on a pedestal, too far out of reach. She doesn't believe you're that special. Not like I do.

She is the only person reassuring me I do have a right to be pissed at you, that I'm entitled to my own opinion without being frowned upon. She's the reason I'm still hanging on by a thread here.

Did your parents tell you that she was in the hospital again? For the fifteenth time this year? I always wonder if you worry about how I will cope when she's not here anymore. Do you worry about that at all? Because I'm telling you right now, I won't be handling it well. What's worse than going bat-shit crazy?

It's okay to tell your parents that I'm jealous, though. Go ahead, tell them right now. But be honest with them just this once, and tell them that it's not her that causes my jealousy.

I mean, really, how can you actually believe that I'm jealous of a woman that uses expressions like LOL and ROFL? And I don't mean in written form. Seriously, she claims to be a fan of the classics while drinking red wine on her ritzy chaise lounge, surrounded by her two ugly-ass cats. She's a vet and researches viruses and bacteria for a living. I am allergic to anything that sports some fur or actually breathes.

Her favorite TV show is "Dexter." I don't want to meet her in a dark alley. I seriously don't. I bet she keeps some kryptonite in her purse, too. Are you feeling weaker already?

Sense my bitterness here?

Don't you know me at all? After those twelve years we've known each other? Known each other inside out? To put it in her words: "Duh!"

I have to admit that I'm chain smoking my ass off right now. I know, this nasty habit that a god-like creature such as yourself quit a lifetime ago. Please insert my enthusiastic cheering here. Add my sarcastic snort as well.

I remember that I once had a good life, too. For a few years, my mom managed to provide a stable home for me. She even threw in a real dad! Well, not my dad, obviously, but close enough. Do I need to remind you that I never knew my dad,and that he died last year without giving me the chance to ever speak to him, much less getting to know him? But hey, I got a brother out of the deal. One I have never met. He is now in fear for the inheritance that my dad left him. I don't know how my real dad managed to be a father to him when he was never capable of doing the same for me. Like I want his money, even if I was born first. My brother got his car, his graduation party, his allowance, and what-the-fuck else he wanted. I got a "mom" that would send me to buy liquor for her. Notice how worked up I get while writing this? Yeah... I guess it's not as buried in my past as I thought it was. Oh well. I was meant to burst at some point. I can only bear so much.

Back to my stepfather. He was there for me, being nice and loving me, even though I wasn't his own flesh and blood. Still, he gave me everything a child required. He loved me and was not afraid to tell me so —something even my own mother couldn't say without her liquid courage and a scary, teary-eyed entrance into my bedroom in the middle of the night. I'll never understand the reason he married her. She was not that pretty. I guess it was because she could break the world record for spreading her legs the fastest. Yeah, yeah, I know, not a nice thing to say.

You just keep your nasty comments to yourself now, baby. I hear you loud and clear:

"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree now, does it?"

In my mind I'm telling you to shut the fuck up. No wait, I actually said that out loud. Jesus, I'm a total nutcase.

Did I ever tell you why we moved out of my stepdad's house so suddenly after ten years? The reason I had to leave my wonderful home and the only father I had ever known? I was fourteen years old at that point and surprised my mother on the couch in our living room with a man that was certainly not my stepfather. They were heavily making out and drinking whiskey like there was no tomorrow. My mother's beverage of choice, by the way. She downed that shit like she was dying from dehydration.

Funny thing is, I wasn't surprised to catch her with another man — God knows that had happened plenty of times before, with me having to witness it. But catching my mom with her sister's boyfriend? Yeah, that was a new low, even for her. Imagine my surprise when she told me the next morning we were moving in with him. I had always been a very obedient and well-behaved child, but at that point, I wanted to strangle her or maybe punch some sense into her. With a heavy object. Repeatedly.

It was the first time I ever put my foot down and told her no.

I was able to move in with my grandma first. But after two weeks, I had to go back to my mom. I hated her new boyfriend with a fiery passion. So when I asked her why she had done all this to me, I still didn't think there would ever come a time when I wouldn't love her anymore, despite her flaws and this weird guilt I felt toward her. In my mind, there was nothing she could do or say that would make me love her any less. I had endured so much already: the not letting me see my biological father, the ripping me away from a good home, the constant drinking, the day a schoolmate told me I had a sister that my mom had given up for adoption and her refusal to talk about it or talk about anything for that matter, the emotional neglect. The list goes on and on. I don't want to bore you to death with reciting my mom's every failure. You know most of this anyway. Remember the uncountable times I cried about it? You really didn't know how to console me, but you tried anyway. I never really thanked you for that, did I?

Back then I still thought I could bear a lot more, until she uttered the words that showed her true shallow colors. The words that made me realize just how "important" I was to her, that I was ranking even lower on her list than I thought to begin with:

"But honey, he has a dishwasher in his beautiful home."

Yeah, go fuck yourself, Mommy dearest.

As you are reading this now, do you finally understand the reason of my jealousy? I mean, yeah, who am I kidding, I don't really like the fact that she is in your life now, but sometimes I wish your carefree life was mine. So badly. I'm just so tired of fighting and trying to be strong all the damn time.

On top of that, you didn't answer my text message. Remember? I sent: I love you and miss you.

Truer words have never been spoken.

Damn cell phone doesn't beep a single time other than to remind me it's time to wake up and go to work. I know where you're going with this. You're being stubborn on purpose to show me what I've done wrong. You know, baby, I try so hard to be different, to be someone else. Not just for you, but for myself too.

I just cannot help myself. My brain constantly shouts at me to change. It even calls me nasty names. It's so hard. I just don't know how to be normal.

I really, really don't.