release....

when i was young, i didn't know what suicide was, i only knew i wanted to be dead. i knew i wouldn't be missed. i was lost and felt forgotten. i would write notes to my mother saying i knew she didn't love me, that i wasn't loved, i'd put those notes in the pocket of a teddy bear and put it on her bed. then i would cry and cry and cry. my mother would come in and tell me i was loved and stroke my hair and i would go to sleep. some time later i would cry again, write another note and put it on her bed and she would come again to comfort me. i am alive and i am strong now, but sometimes the beast that drew me in when i was young returns and i feel myself drawn in again. my mother is no longer here to comfort me or tell me i am loved, but i know i am. though she is dead she will love me always. that is what a mother does for you. she may have made some mistakes, but not loving me wasn't one of them.