A Gift.

Its hard, Aunt Peggy, to accept a gift.

You told me all the time to just accept it, it wouldn't break you.

Its hard to accept a gift when you feel like you don't deserve it. Like, you are so unworthy of the gift. I want to be able to accept gifts, Aunt Peggy, without any guilt attached like a card on a ribbon.

I wish the gift you had given me was more time with you, instead of learning the lesson  you meant to teach me while you lived. I think I've finally learned though, as hard as that is. Its a lump in my throat, Aunt Peggy.

So I'll stifle the guilt, I'll fake a smile and say thank you. Because maybe that person needs to give the gift. Like you felt you needed to give gifts to me. I knew you loved me without the gifts, Aunt Peggy. I hope you know I loved you too.

Its the same as lying...

I just can't deal with the emotional upheaval you cause me.
If you tell me that you are going to do something, DO IT.
If you aren't going to do something, TELL ME. Don't feed me a fucking line.
Telling me you will and then you turn around and don't is the same as lying to me.

You'd think I'd have learned by now. You'd think I'd know better than to believe you, but I don't apparently. I'm a stupid girl who puts her faith in you over and over and over and over. Far more than I should. Its not just that you let me down. Its not just that you change your mind.

Its that you say one thing, but you do another.
Its that I was looking forward to these things. I had put my hopes into your hands and you threw them on the ground.

And you know, it was your fucking idea in the first place, so I shouldn't be this upset, but goddamn, I was looking forward to it.

You wonder why I don't ask you to do things with me. Go places with me. Etc.

You always bail on me. I can't trust you to follow through with something. There is always an excuse. Always. Sometimes, its a valid one, but more often than not it just comes across as a fucking waste of breath. Don't tell me you are going to do something and then not do it. Don't tell me that you are going to do something and then give me some flimsy excuse later. It isn't fair to me.

And its the same as lying to me.

Missing kind of Night

Dear Aunt Peggy,
There are not enough letters in the alphabet to express just how much I miss you. How much I want to tell you that I love you and that I am so angry that you died so soon.

I am angry that you just gave up. I am angry that I didn't get to tell you goodbye. I am angry that I couldn't do anything to stop you from going. Mostly, Aunt Peggy, I'm angry at myself.

I'm angry that I didn't visit you more at the end.
I'm angry that I didn't finish the "Indian Princess" story you wanted me to find and finish.
I'm angry that I have failed you.

I wish you were here. I wish I could hug you one more time. I wish I could just have a few more minutes to tell you just how much you mean to me.

Dear Santa,

Dear Santa,
Is it wrong that I feel the way that I do? Is it so wrong that I still feel this way, after years. I've tried to wipe it out with hate and anguish. The anguish remains, but I'm too tired to hate anymore. I'm just sadly angry and angrily sad. Is it fair to feel this way? Should I try to squash it?

Do you know what I want most for Christmas, Santa? I want a family again. I want my grandfather, Memere, Pepere, grandma Bobbi, my dad, I even want Wes and his family back. Just to feel like we were a family again. Just to feel the illusion of love, even for a few moments. Is that wrong? Is it wrong to want even the illusion of it again?

But if Wes wanted to be a father, he should've tried harder. If he wanted to be a part of my life he should've tried. I shouldn't have to go to him to make things work. He should've acted like an adult.

I am my mother's daughter first. I am his daughter second.
I am my brother's sister first. I am his daughter second.
If he couldn't love my mother any longer, couldn't tolerate my brother any longer than he no longer loved or tolerated me. They are a part of me and I am a part of them. I really did love him at one point.

If Carolyn wanted to be my grandmother she should've tried to love my mother, love my brother. She should've tried harder, but I suppose she didn't know how. But that isn't my fault.

I am my mother's daughter first. I am her granddaughter second.
I am my brother's sister first. I am her granddaughter second.
If she can't accept and love them, then she can't accept and love me. And the saddest thing is that I really did love her. Looked up to her. But I can't tolerate her talking shit about my mother. I won't stand for anyone to talk shit about my mother or my brother or my sister.

Mom, Chris and Hannah are almost all I have really. I have several other relatives, but none that I see on a regular basis. And my mother's husband, Mark, is a nice enough man, but he isn't my father. He never will be. He will always be a nice man that my mother is married to. And I'm okay with that. I'm okay with him just being a friend.

I want acceptance for Christmas. I want to believe that Wes actually cared once. Or maybe I don't, because then I'll just blame myself for him not caring any longer.

I'd like to not be so pathetic that I can't sleep because I'm thinking about everything that is wrong. I'd like to not be so hung up on missing people that don't care about me. People who don't even think about me, even though I can't stop thinking about them.

I really just want peace on earth, I guess.

But you aren't any more real than the unicorns and mermaids I claim to believe in. You can't solve my problems anymore than I can. And if there is a God, he has long since stopped listening to me. I suppose this is where I should end this then. What's the point, Santa?

If I say I've been a really good girl this year, will that make any difference?

If I say that I've really tried this year, will that make any difference?

I hate you. I truly do. I hate you for not being real. I hate you for being a childhood principality that can't exist in this world. I hate that this is how everything has worked out.

I am too tired to hate you. I'm too tired to hate anyone, anymore.

Sarai.