I’ve been thinking
(I’m always thinking, as you all know),
About all the things I’m sorry for.
I’m sorry for myself.
I’m sorry that I always feel like I have holes in my heart that let happiness fall through.
I’m sorry that I think so hard about things that scare me.
I’m sorry that I’m not scared to die, but that I am scared of the forever that comes after.
I’m sorry that I always have a thousand things to say away from my therapist
But when I get there, my mouth is dry and my mind is empty
Of all but the most petulant quarrels.
I’m sorry for that part of myself that is dying.
I’m sorry for that part of myself that is screaming for help,
Like a crying baby in the night,
But I can’t help it, I can’t, even though I want to.
I just want to make the pain go away.
But I can’t.
I’m sorry to my parents,
Sorry for all the midnight wake-up calls and crying,
Sorry that nothing they do can take away the pain,
Sorry that all the talks don’t help, that only make it worse,
Sorry for the copays, the appointments,
Sorry that I didn’t live up to the shiny promise all babies have.
I’m sorry that I grew up.
I didn’t want to, either.
I’m sorry for all the words I can never say.
I’m sorry for the mistakes I can never stop making.
I’m sorry for the panic attacks and the nervous s***s and all the stupid things that scare me.
I’m sorry that I’m a disappointment.
If I could give my parents a better daughter and my brother a better sister, I would.
But I can’t,
And I’m sorry for that, too.