Hey Mom,
It?s dark and I have no idea what to say to you. I wish I could fill this letter with fluff and puff about how much better I am feeling out here. But I don?t want to lie. Never to you, Mom. I like feeling lost. Right now, it?s so calming to just drift. I?ve walked some days for hours, and other days I?ve spent all day in bed.
Why does it hurt so much? I just don?t know how else to fill this letter other than what?s been following me. It finds me every time I wake up, before I can even have a cup of coffee. And everything feels different now. I don?t know.. I feel silly for even writing this to you. But I know I have to. No, I need to. Whatever it takes to get rid of this feeling, if only for the time I?m writing this.
I wish I had listened to you, Mom.
You?re always right. And even when you?re not, you still make sense in that cold way. I remember how excited I was to be free of fur. Did I ever tell you about that day? It was an accident, you know.
I was hiding out, living in doorways and boxes and gutters until one day.. I saw a little girl. She was hurt, needed a doctor. But there was nobody willing to help her. It was raining, I was so cold, and so was she.
She couldn?t have been older than 8. Someone needed to help her. She didn?t know how to make shelter, how to hide.
And if there?s one thing I hate about myself, it?s how good I am at hiding. She just kept looking around, coughing, and shaking out in the rain. I crawled out to her, but my paw got stuck in a broken bicycle chain. She was getting worse; she had been out in the dark rain for way too long. And she wouldn?t stop coughing. I kept pulling and pulling at my paw, and I was desperate to help her. This little girl didn?t do anything but live, and she was suffering. I didn?t care if I tore my paw right off, but I pulled so hard that I felt like I was breaking. I felt like everything was ripping, burning, moving. I thought that was what it felt like to lose a paw. But I closed my eyes and kept pulling. And I finally got out. I looked at my paw, and didn?t see a paw. I saw.. a leg. And my paws weren?t paws. They were hands like yours. Well, more like a guy?s. And I was covered in weird black tar until I stood up. Before I could get to that girl, I snatched a stained holey hoody jacket that was spilling out of a garbage can and had to use a box to cover how the thing between my legs was dangling. And I got to her.
Mom, I want you to tell me why I became human. Why did it happen that night? I was too scared to ask. Hard to explain, but it is frightening to own up to the fact that I was a test tube rabbit. You?re a generous creator, and I don?t like to say that. Because you?re my mom. Not just somebody that made me.
It?s amazing how fast people throw clothes at you in a hospital on a rainy day. I?ll come to visit you soon, Mom. I promise. And I?ll be at your wedding, don?t you worry about that.
I love you, Mom.
Damian
It?s dark and I have no idea what to say to you. I wish I could fill this letter with fluff and puff about how much better I am feeling out here. But I don?t want to lie. Never to you, Mom. I like feeling lost. Right now, it?s so calming to just drift. I?ve walked some days for hours, and other days I?ve spent all day in bed.
Why does it hurt so much? I just don?t know how else to fill this letter other than what?s been following me. It finds me every time I wake up, before I can even have a cup of coffee. And everything feels different now. I don?t know.. I feel silly for even writing this to you. But I know I have to. No, I need to. Whatever it takes to get rid of this feeling, if only for the time I?m writing this.
I wish I had listened to you, Mom.
You?re always right. And even when you?re not, you still make sense in that cold way. I remember how excited I was to be free of fur. Did I ever tell you about that day? It was an accident, you know.
I was hiding out, living in doorways and boxes and gutters until one day.. I saw a little girl. She was hurt, needed a doctor. But there was nobody willing to help her. It was raining, I was so cold, and so was she.
She couldn?t have been older than 8. Someone needed to help her. She didn?t know how to make shelter, how to hide.
And if there?s one thing I hate about myself, it?s how good I am at hiding. She just kept looking around, coughing, and shaking out in the rain. I crawled out to her, but my paw got stuck in a broken bicycle chain. She was getting worse; she had been out in the dark rain for way too long. And she wouldn?t stop coughing. I kept pulling and pulling at my paw, and I was desperate to help her. This little girl didn?t do anything but live, and she was suffering. I didn?t care if I tore my paw right off, but I pulled so hard that I felt like I was breaking. I felt like everything was ripping, burning, moving. I thought that was what it felt like to lose a paw. But I closed my eyes and kept pulling. And I finally got out. I looked at my paw, and didn?t see a paw. I saw.. a leg. And my paws weren?t paws. They were hands like yours. Well, more like a guy?s. And I was covered in weird black tar until I stood up. Before I could get to that girl, I snatched a stained holey hoody jacket that was spilling out of a garbage can and had to use a box to cover how the thing between my legs was dangling. And I got to her.
Mom, I want you to tell me why I became human. Why did it happen that night? I was too scared to ask. Hard to explain, but it is frightening to own up to the fact that I was a test tube rabbit. You?re a generous creator, and I don?t like to say that. Because you?re my mom. Not just somebody that made me.
It?s amazing how fast people throw clothes at you in a hospital on a rainy day. I?ll come to visit you soon, Mom. I promise. And I?ll be at your wedding, don?t you worry about that.
I love you, Mom.
Damian