Last night I heard sirens before I went to bed.. I knew it was the ambulance come to get you. I couldn't accept this. If you'd keep me from my love the only possible way- I'd never forgive you. I respect you trying, but this.. Needless to say the sirens got closer and closer but they started getting more distant after about ten minutes. So you hadn't done it. But I didn't think you would at your own mother's, anyway.

I have to explain some things to you that I never can to your face because you won't let me talk. First- I want to tell you that I don't care what you think of me, all the horrible things you're sure I do, all the bloody things you suspect. I'm talking to you like a human being now, not like your daughter, and I hope that might be enough to make you listen.

Whether or not this will make you angry, I can't care anymore. you're ruining yourself.

You always feel like you're being persecuted. Everyone wants to hurt you for some reason or other. You're the victim. What you don't know is you're doing it to yourself. There are no worries so large as you make them, and nothing so bad happens as happens inside your mind. I'm sure you miss me, I'm sure that could be part of it, but to hurt other people because you can't handle it isn't right. While you're trying to protect me you're trying to make everyone live their lives the way it would best benefit me- the best example. People don't like being told what to do, Kelly, just as you don't. If you don't like to listen and I yell at you to, you won't. You'll tell me to go away.

I was told you had the devil in your eyes last night. That isn't very good for the one accusing me of it. This isn't anything to do with you. I can tell you why all this is happening. I can tell you why but I hesitate because it wont be believed. And I know my opinion isn't worth anything, but I'm not the only one that thinks this.

When you were diagnosed with clinical depression after trying to kill yourself a couple times- you were prescribed Prozac. What did you call them? Your happy pills? No one was there for you because your own mind couldn't see they were. It wasn't us at all. Denis was there, your self-appointed saviour. He loved you. He'd take care of you. He spoke to me awhile after this happened (I remember it was the weekend I was visiting my Dad), and he told me how 'sensitive' you were right now, and, almost in tears, how we couldn't do things to upset you, you couldn't handle it.

From that point on, it was him we asked if we could go out, or you told us to go ask him. In the foreground we'd do the housework you wanted, but he'd be in the background telling you "more discipline." He was always there, like a silent and overweight statue, ever lurking because if we did something wrong, You Couldn't Handle It. It's a form of control, as they say.

You could have gotten better on your own, after awhile. After you realized people do care, and the world is just the way it is whether you're here or not, and people are benefited by your presence. Instead you were being constantly told you 'shouldn't have to deal with this' or 'I'll take care of it'. That weakens people. They become dependant, and that's just what you are.

You worry about me being like you. You call me a slut to my father, and you tell him I'm going to do dope just like him. You say he lets me run around the city doing whatever I want, and I'm part of a cult. It looks ridiculous written here, just as it is in real life. These are all things you shouldn't have to worry about, and as you're told that from your 'guiding spirit' that you don't, you get angry (I know you do) and tell him 'she's my daughter. I worry about her. This doesn't involve you.'

But you still aren't yourself, Mother. Yourself would trust that her daughter has judgements, morals (maybe), or at least trust her to have some intelligence. You always tell me I'm an adolescent trying to be an adult.. but, you never grew up.

You can't tell me how to live my life, you're supposed to be there for guidance. Nor can you tell my dad how to 'raise' me, you're there to see what he's doing, and help him if he needs it, because he hasn't had me living with him in twelve years.

He's a good father. He's understanding, or he tries, and he tries to provide me with some comforts although he hasn't had a job in awhile until recently. He loves me, and no snide comments about how he's keeping me just to quit paying child support can plant doubts in my mind. He's doing the best he can.

And I know what you think of me. I know you think the worst, and that you can't actually believe he loves me because either you don't, or you think that he can't possibly when you do through so much. And whether or not you're jealous, whether or not your vindictive- you're weakened so much that I don't think you know the difference anymore.

I don't want to talk to you anymore. I told you that two days ago. I Don't want you to call me over and knock me down anymore. If everything bad you hear about me you believe, I don't want you to tell me. I'm sick of worrying about things that have nothing to do with anything I actually did or who I am.

Until one day you get rid of this spell that 'someone' cast over your head, you won't be hearing from me. In the meantime, you can know I don't blame you. I blame folie a deux- you both went crazy.

Alexis