Letter Twenty-Nine: Of He Who I Wish I Could Tell Everything

To my daddy

Dear Daddy,

I know I wrote you a letter before with Mama, but this one isn't collective, it's just to you.

I wish I could tell you everything, hence you being assigned to this letter.  I wish that I could pour my heart out to you like I used to, when things were simpler.  We were so close back in the young softball days.  When I was good.  When I was younger, not so interested in boys or makeup or friends.  Back when I was close to being normal.  But I hope that now you've realized what I really am, even if I don't open up completely to you.

I love you so much, Daddy, more than you know.  I wish I could tell you about all the times I've been in all the pain that I've never shown you.  I'm a much darker person than you would expect, under all the happiness and sunshine and sarcasm that we exchange.  I hurt myself for a long time, and though I'm not doing it physically anymore, I still hurt myself mentally and emotionally.  Sometimes you contribute to my pain, with the moments you make yourself inconsiderate to us.  And yes, while I tease Alex with you, or when I tease you back, sometimes you take it too far.  I'm not comfortable with my weight and I know it needs to be worked on, but there's no need to pester me with it.  It only adds to my insecurity.

I want to tell you everything, Daddy.  About Robby.  About my friends.  About me.  About the shenanigans I've gotten into.  About Willie.  About...well, everything.  I wish I could tell you.  I really wish I could.  But I can't, so this is how I have to settle it, which is sort of sad.  I love you so much, Daddy, and I only wish you could see that, along with all the other things I'm hiding to myself.  I'm sorry for keeping them to myself.  I am.

Your daughter,

Mia