Via Google Hi, Mom. It's me. I know we don't talk. I know that was my decision, but I wanna say a few things. You don't have to listen; that's ok. Really. I just... I just need to say them, and words were always the best way for me to express myself. Growing up, you told me I was too loud, too angry, too stubborn. You said I only listened to myself. You hated my need to be right. You hated how loud my emotions were and told me that they would get me in trouble. Maybe that's not how you really felt. I hope not. But that's what you communicated to my younger self. Parts of that are right and true. I was angry. My emotions were violent, and I didn't know what to do with them. I desperately, desperately wanted to be right. I was scared of being wrong. Being wrong meant punishment, the few things I loved taken away. I had so many siblings, and I always felt alone. I knew I didn't fit the box, and I knew I was supposed to. So I hid in things. I hid in Lord of