Dear Dad,

I’m not good at saying thank you. I thought I was, but I figured out I’m not when it’s important. It was a week ago when I sent you that text. I told you how not okay I felt. I know you think that you don’t have good words but you do. At least, they feel better than talking to Mom. I’m not trying to downcast Mom but everything she says I can or already tell myself. She never tells me something I don’t already know, when we are talking about me or how I feel. Everything she says is fabricated from overused advice. I do the same thing she does. I kinda hate that. I hate clichés. I think that's why I try so hard to be different, to be better. I want to be too many things. I am too many things. I don't know how to honestly be myself. The person I am is trapped in my head, reserved to only be present when I'm alone. And here I am messing up a thank you note with another problem. Thank you, again. I'll stop talking now.

I love you,

Lindsey