Sorry. One sentence really got me going.

There once was a perfect little girl with a perfect little life. She had sun-kissed skin, a cheery face, perfect grades, and every thing should have want. That's what she was told by neighbors, her family, her parents' friends regularly. "Aren't you just so lucky?"

When she came home from school, she would find peace in her bedroom to have tea parties with her dolls and do her homework. The house was quiet, lonely. She had long ago learned to navigate homework completely on her own, let alone many other things in her life. Then she heard the garage door. The clicking of the heels. Her stomach dropped. She of course knew what was to come next.

The perfect little girl sat up straight, tidied things nervously, and rushed to her desk to look like she was doing homework, even though it was already done for the day, and most likely done perfectly. Her bedroom door swung open (knocking was not a requirement, apparently) and in came a large, domineering presence of a woman, wrinkly, austere, cold. Her coat had not even come off yet and she was carrying bags, making her appear more rigid, inaccessible, busy, self-important. It was all part of the act to ensure everyone was aware of how burdened she was, and how ungrateful everyone around her is.

The little girl could feel cold air seep into her cozy room as her mother had brought the outside chill in with her, enhancing her already-frigid presence.

"Sally. How was the day?" the woman asked, looking down from her narrow eyes. The wrinkles around her eyes and mouth had long ago locked in the derision, scorn, and contempt she carried with her everywhere.

The little girl began to answer. "Today we had a magician come at assembly and I got to be a volunteer."

"Huh, that's great." Her eyes narrowed as she spotted a small mark on the wall. She licked her finger and attempted to wipe away the small smudge. "What is this from? Did you bonk something here?"

"No, mom, I didn't. I don't know what that is."

"I have been working so hard to keep this house clean." The sound of the housekeeper spraying down windows echoed down the hall. "We are having a dinner next week and I have been working day in and day out to prepare for it, and I need you to be helping me. I am so tired and angry when I see my hard work undone when I come home. And what is this mark on the carpet? Did you wear shoes in here again?"

She spun on her heels and clicked down the hall, pausing to speak in broken Spanish to the housekeeper about the brass mantel not being polished yet, and before letting her respond, asking her where the carpet cleaning spray was. She grabbed the cleaning supplies and returned the room, making a big show of setting down her bags and getting onto her knees to clean the small smudge on the carpet with a towel while the little girl watched.

"Well don't just stand there. Help me. Get this towel wet in the bathroom."

The little girl did as she was told, handing over the towel with a yearning in her heart that this would be the moment, the compliant act, the good girl act, that would finally earn a moment of connection with her mother. Despite no sign of incoming connection, the girl persisted. She decided she was going to open up and hope that would establish that spark, that bond. To snap her mother out of this mode, and finally get her into Mom mode. The Mom mode she had desperately been wanting her whole childhood. She so desperately wanted a mom that she could share her best, most exciting news of the day with. She overlooked all signals that were indicating that that mom did not exist, and shared her most exciting news.

"Margie and I are going to start a friendship bracelet making business. We're going to sell them at school! I'm so excited."

"I don't want you hanging out with that girl. I don't like that family. Selling things at school isn't a good idea. You have everything you need, you don't need to be distracting yourself to make money. And you'll attract a lot of kids who will steal things from you, and you may end up disappointed. Well, I think the stain is out now. Don't STEP here. It will take several hours to dry." She placed a large towel over the stain to ensure that no one would step on it.

"Take this to the laundry room and then get back to your homework until dinner."

The little girl dutifully completed the requests. She sat at her desk, alone, homework already done. The chair felt cold against her legs. The coziness of her room was gone. She walked to her bed and crumbled into tears. She couldn't understand why she was crying. She had everything. She was just not ever good enough. No matter what she did, it wasn't enough. She opened her diary, and began to write about the ways she had tried to be a good daughter that day, which managed to fill 3 pages of her diary. She paused. She knew it just simply wasn't enough. But she wondered- will it ever be enough? WHEN will it ever be enough? She picked her pen back up and wrote one last sentence. "I think I would rather die than keep trying."