I see your life in two distinct stages. One before your middle school years and one after middle school. When you were younger, everybody would tell your dad and I how lucky we were that you were our daughter. Everyone commented about your even temperament, your willingness to help others, and your general overall goodness. Truth told, your dad and I wondered to ourselves, how in the hell did we get so lucky?
Then, everything changed. I distinctly remember when the police showed up at our door in the middle of the night. It is when I realized that the daughter that I thought you were, no longer existed or if she did, you were hiding her away, maybe trying to keep yourself from getting hurt. It wasn’t us that had hurt you, but I think that in your pursuit of trying to burying your emotions, we got packed away and forgotten as well. I don’t understand it.
Overwhelming fear has been a part of my life for the past five years, ever since we found out that you had planned on taking your life. Every night before I go to bed, I pray to something that I’m not sure exists, that I will still have a daughter that is alive. When I try to talk to you, to get you to share what your feeling and implore upon you to feel, I’m met with a stone wall. How can I get through to you so that you know that I do care and tell me, when will the daughter I once knew, come back? Or, is she lost to me forever?