31 July 2002
I called. Your dad answered. He said you’re visiting family for the holiday. I’m going to assume that means you’re on a beach somewhere. I hope you’re putting sunscreen on so your pasty ass doesn’t burn.
Your dad didn’t seem too mad at me. I assumed he was the reason you’re not answering the phone but he says you don’t want to talk to me? I know you’re mad, sweetheart, and you have every reason to be, but I can’t apologize proper if you don’t let me talk to you.
I hope July 26th was okay and that you’ve got people to talk to, wherever you are. I know you’re not a big believer in God, or whatever, but I think your mom’s watching you and she’s proud of you and sorry for what she did and stuff. Depression is tough. I know it feels like she didn’t care about you, or that she picked relief over being your mother. That’s not really it, though, I don’t think. Depressed people think the world is better of without them. Her brain probably told her she was doing you a favor. Never mind that she was wrong. She did love you. I promise you that. It’s impossible not to love you.
Anyway, things kinda suck here, but I won’t bore you with that right now. I just wanted to let you know I was thinking about you.