Unwell

She's married to a wonderful man, pregnant with a healthy child, and knows there's so much she should be thankful for, and yet-- She's not ready for motherhood. She's not ready to be a wife. She's not ready for the realities that have trapped her. To pass the time, fill the void, and in hopes that someone may eventually understand, she begins a letter to her unborn daughter. In it she tells, unflinchingly, her life story that bring her to this moment. She explains what she hasn't told anyone else: not only who she is, but who she isn't. Excerpt: " I won’t lie to you. Since we’ll have nothing else together: no physical contact, no hugs, no kisses or shared memories, the least I can give you is truth. No, I won’t be telling you the whole truth. By the time you read this, you’ll understand that there’s no such thing. Everything pure is eventually tarnished, people are ruined, and memory is, by definition, incomplete. I’m sorry. That came out quite a bit harsher than I intended. All I meant to say is this: I’ll give you whatever truth I can, to the best of my ability. "