I’m an estranged daughter. Tomorrow is Mother’s Day. I used to bring my Mum flowers, write her cards, make fun crafts in my school to give to her, I made her those “Best Mum in the World” and I meant them— I’d never had another Mum to compare.
So, here I am, 1:00 in the morning, crying pathetically to myself because I miss being somebody’s little girl. You’re 16 years old, grow up. Go to bed. My mother has been treated for Depression, though she’s never told me herself, and I’m taking pills for anxiety, depression, and bipolar disorder: something she’d never approve of. The irony […]