I sat down on my bed with tear stained eyes. My mom and I just had another pointless argument. I thought I could finally get through to her. I guess I was wrong. To distract myself, I called up my boyfriend. We talked about our pictures, as usual, and how much we hated them, as usual. He tried to cheer me up and make me laugh, as usual, but I was still sad, as usual. He did make me laugh though. He always made me laugh.
As we were talking, I couldn't help but drift away from our conversation and climb into my thought spiral of ideas. I thought of brilliant people who would understand me. The kind only found in books. I had recently gotten a couple new books, but haven't found the time or inspiration to open the pages to their worlds. Soon, I thought. Soon I would.
The next day brought many new and unsurprising events. A new english unit to learn. A new health project to complete. Another day of math homework. And as always, the same old argument awaited me at home. This time I swore. That made things worse. I didn't care. I knew that would happen anyway.
At one point, I thought of running away. But what good would that do, I thought. There wasn't anywhere I could go. I then did what I did best, write. I wrote piles and piles of stunning poetry, all a part of my repertoire. However that day, I decided to try to put my craft to good use. I wrote my mom a letter.
The letter contained me, my entire brain, and thought spiraling emotions. All packed onto one page, explaining what I've been trying to get through to her all along. I even sealed in in an envelope, with only her name written neatly in the center.
For the next few weeks, I barely talked to her. I only did when it was necessary. But I wrote her a letter every morning after she'd left for work. I'd placed it the mailbox before leaving for school. And every day after I came back, the mailbox was empty and I saw my torn envelopes in the trash.
At this point, I was pretty sure she'd gotten the letters, but I wasn't sure if she'd actually read them. But I continued this pattern, talking only when necessary, and writing a new letter every morning. My relationship with my mom was really sour. All I could do now was hope.
It's been almost four years since the arguing began. I'm graduating high school this year, and I couldn't be more happy and scared. I'll be alone during my new life, but then again, I've always been alone. At least it felt that way. Back in ninth grade, the seniors gave us some advice. And now since my time is drawing to a close, I wanted to share something I've personally learned as well:
For people who choose to listen, they can. But I can't promise if they'll understand, or even like what I say. But that's okay. I know that sometimes that's the reality for everyone at one point. But they were kind, and that's all that matters. I'm still sad. I think I will be, for a long time. But I suppose, in the end, I'll be alright.

© Saiya Long