Dearest Momma,

I keep thinking about what you said to me way back before you flew away. How you told me about my foot. The feather looks so whispery now; it’s all beaten and worn down just like you were. I keep thinking about you more and more. I remember that day when I found you, all locked up in the room. It was dark just like my feather is and you were just lying there not breathing. I remember crying softly as your voice whispered to me, “Never give up.” I will never give up, Momma. I’m going to try to figure out how to better myself and figure out why I keep getting these tattoos on my body. I’ll figure this out Momma. Just for you. I promise. Do you know how it feels inside? It hurts inside to breathe. Every breath I take makes my heart ache more…it’s shattering. I really think my heart is shattering.

I saw a man today; the school made me see him. His name is David, and I just don’t like him. He asked me about my feelings, Momma. I don’t know what to say to him. I don’t feel anything, not anymore at least, not since you left. He saw my tattoo, you know, the one on my foot. He asked me where it came from.

I’m glad he didn’t see the octopus tattoo on my side. I remember it showed up right after Father kicked me. It was hard too, that kick. I remember feeling the air leave my body. It’s cold when the air leaves you as everything is frozen in time. I remember that moment when Father spat on me…am I really a good for nothing attention seeker?

But anyways, I told David I didn’t know and he told me it was a whole bunch of bull. I really don’t know Momma…I really don’t know. I am trying to learn though. I went to the library last week and tried to figure it out. All the books say tattoos only come with pain but mine was painless.

On another day I saw him…I saw Father. I could feel my heart ache slowly as my breath crippled my body. I could feel the cold creep down my back as I remembered everything, the anger boiling inside me. I took my palm and held it to my chest, clenching it slowly like I would squeeze my heart. I twisted my hand around as I wanted to do my heart as all the anxiety left my soul. I felt another tattoo coming, almost like an instinct, maybe this one tattoo prettier than all the rest, as I thought to myself, “Why me?” Father called out my name.

“Hey Piper,” he said. “Look at who I found. It’s David. Don’t you remember him? Remember all the nights he would come when I’d play poker with my buddies?”

With him was David, Momma. David from being little… David from my therapy sessions… They both strangled my throat, taking turns squeezing tighter and tighter each time. I could feel the red marks imprinting on my neck and I thought, “Is this what the tattoos feel like?” I struggled to get away but as they pulled me closer to them my knees buckled and I just fell into David’s arms.

He’s supposed to be my therapist, Momma. David is supposed to listen to me ramble and just talk but the way he was putting his hands on me wasn’t wanted. I thought to myself, “Is this what rape feels like?”

Momma. Oh Momma. Rape does feel like that. It hurts inside now. I mean, it hurt before but now it’s always there in the pit of my stomach. I can’t breathe without feeling the need to gasp for air. And that tattoo feeling, Momma? I have a new one, it’s a rose. A simple little red rose on my neck. I feel like I should be closer to figuring out why I’m getting them, Momma.

I remember feeling so alone like everything ached deep inside. I don’t understand why David thinks he can use me like this. Our “sessions” are just sexual anymore and I don’t know why it matters to him so much. Did you ever notice what therapist can also say, Momma? It can say “The Rapist.” Isn’t that so strange? David seems to fit those things...why though?

David keeps trying to “help” me, Momma. There was a session that wasn’t so sexual...and it made me feel like there was just a little bit of hope for me and my tattoos.

“Piper, what do you feel inside?” David cooed, trying to hold my attention.

“I feel hollow inside,” I whispered.

“What is it? I can’t hear you,”

“I FEEL HOLLOW!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. My lungs tightened as I tried to breathe in air again.

“Good, good. Now why do you think you feel this way?”

“Maybe the reason why I’m getting these tattoos is a new way to deal with pain. Maybe it’s the emotional pain that is what makes these tattoos on my skin,”

“What tattoos?”

“These tattoos…”

My rose tingled as I showed David what they looked like. My rose made me feel like I was alive, like the numbness was finally going to go away, like I was going to be okay.

David ran his fingers over my rose and smiled, but it wasn’t a normal smile. It was a smile that shined brighter than the stars at night. The smile was soothing and it reminded me of when you used to read me bedtime stories, Momma.

“You know, I think you’re right. What else do you think these tattoos mean?” David was intrigued now and I finally felt like I wasn’t an object to him anymore.

“I think that tattoos show I’m a fighter,”

“Mhmm,”

“...and that I am supposed to do something with my life,”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. I feel like I’m falling all the time but maybe this time, instead of falling, I’ll fly.”

“Fly where?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, sometimes you have to fall before you fly.”

The feather on my foot tingled as David said this. Momma, I felt like I could conquer anything, like the pain inside of me was just a figment of my imagination. I still feel like that Momma, to this very day. That moment in time was just proof that I am worth something. I am a fighter. Who cares if I’m set up for failure? All that’s left for me is to defy the odds and prove to everyone that I mean something. I’m going to make you proud, Momma. I am going to fight this. David stopped seeing me a long time ago, someone else told about his sexual encounters with other patients. It wasn’t just me that was broken and taken advantage of, it was everyone. Father doesn’t try to see me anymore and I’m happy he doesn’t try. I’m happy now, Momma. I still miss you a lot, but at least I’m trying my hardest to stay happy.

Sometimes you have to fall before you fly.

Kisses xoxo,

Piper