My Dearest Frankenstein,

For a long time Mommy has been sick. You were too young to remember the break, the implosion (the mess of it all). At the time I was able to step outside of myself viewing the smoldering remnants of a previous life. ...I spent the better half of four weeks receiving treatment. The cure-all, pills were prescribed, healthy habits were formed - your dad and I, we were strong ready to take on the world. 

Years passed, things were great. Eventually therapy stopped, the pills became less... 

Little Frankenstein became a much older and wiser Frankenstein; Mommy withdrew into herself oftentimes leaving you to fend for yourself. Baby I wish I could tell you I'm a drunk, a drug user, anything that you could genuinely hate. Truth is I have a mental illness. I am so sorry for making you feel insecure, leading you to believe you're not enough or that I don't care. Mommy cares, for some time now Mommy has not been able to show how she cares. That's not okay. Know that no matter how crazy I get, no matter how withdrawn I become I will always love you. No matter what! 

As I write this I'm still battling uphill, tomorrow I'll still be climbing that beast of a burden. Know I'm trying, I'm still here. More importantly know it's not your fault. I'll get better, at some point in time I could get worse (this will cycle for as long as you'll know me). Love me, fight for me, be my Frankenstein; but never ever let me go.


Xoxo, Mommy