where and how things happened to me

This is something I don't talk about. This is something I only explain if someone asks. The actual explaining isn't what matters. It's what I am and it's how I got this way.

You left me when I was too small to stop you. Or talk you out of it. Or go through your purse when you weren't looking and throw it all away. You could have gotten better and you didn't have to steal and you didn't have to lie. You would have been okay. I know it. I know because I know exactly what it's like to be you. Everyone says I take after you so much and that I'm crazy just like you were. I wish I knew for sure. Since you left, I've only seen you a few times. Once was the night when we stayed at grandma's house and we had the best time. Remember? I painted your fingernails and we ate cereal and talked about everything in the whole world. You gave me a stone my dad had found in the 70's. He had painted your name on it and it was beautiful. I remember. I remember falling asleep and thinking grandma's air conditioner was so loud. You said you'd be right back that night, but I woke up by myself the next morning. You left a note (you've always had beautiful handwriting). It didn't mean anything, though. It wasn't enough. Your lies and your reasons as to why you left me again that night are still unclear and I have a hard time remembering what the note said. I suppose it doesn't matter. All I know is that you snuck out of my life again that night.

The next time I saw you was when I was 16. Your father's funeral. I suppose him being alive wasn't important enough for you to pay attention, but his passing was important enough for you to spare two hours of your life. You had on a shabby denim dress and tennis shoes. You spoke to me as if nothing was wrong. That day was a blur and I don't really remember a lot. You didn't have front teeth.

It's my name, it's my face, it's my personality. Every fragment of the person I am is from you. The way I feel when someone hurts me, the way I respond to it. The way my ears look and how I have that odd line on the bottom of my feet. It's you. I am you. I loved you more than I loved anything, anything.

Why did you leave me?