Because you are the only one I can talk to

I had a fight with my mom tonight and I couldn't run away because we were in the car together. As she drove me back to my car I decided that it would probably be a good thing if I just died in a car wreck on the way home. Then she would have to live with the fact that I died while still mad at her. But more importantly, I wouldn't hurt anymore. No one could hurt me if I was dead. Isn't that a terrible, terrible thing to say? And that's how I felt.

Our fight was about something stupid on the surface, but it was really about trust. I don't trust her and she thinks that I should now. How am I supposed to do that? Don't I deserve a lot of reassurance for awhile. And if she didn't have anything to hide, she wouldn't mind showing me whatever it was she had hidden in her hand. Now, of course, I'll never know what was in that hand, except for the lie about it being wheat pennies wrapped in cellophane. If you had a handful of pennies and I asked you what was in your hand, would you hide them? Would you be offended? No, you would probably open your hand and show me the darn things. I think she had pills wrapped in that cellophane. And if she did. . . If she did. . . . What do I do? I cant do it anymore. I just cant do this. I just don't know what to do. I don't trust her, I cant trust her. I just want to go somewhere far away and safe where I wont have to wonder if Mommys abusing drugs again or not. A handful of secrets, that what she had.

Sarah Jo