Dear Mom...

A letter to my mother. It's long. Only read if you're truly interested in the depths of my life, thoughts, and mind.

I can't stand having to write this for the plain fact that I hate thinking about you. All you've always done is frustrate me, make me angry, make me feel helpless, powerless, useless, and anything else negative I could possibly relate to you. You made me feel like a failure; like I would never be good enough. You never used to when you were with dad. You were too busy yelling at him for his imperfections and fuck ups then, and while he yelled at me for mine, you encouraged me the best you could. All of that changed when you separated, and we moved. You had no one else to take out your frustrations on, so you started doing so on me; pointing out all of my mistakes and telling me I'm not doing good enough.

We moved when I was fourteen, and I was more interested in spending time with my cousin Robert than with you. You didn't understand me in the least, and you never tried. No matter what I did, it was always wrong because it wasn't done the way you wanted it done. No matter what grades I got, and we both know I'm not good with school, you always told me I had to try harder. Well, I'm sorry, but I was doing the best I could back then. After a while, I just stopped caring.

During grade 10 (level one) of high school, in October, I started cutting myself for no reason, or so I believe. However, that gradually turned into my frustration, upset, and anger toward you, because you were never satisfied with me. It seemed to interest me when I first did it...and I hid that from you because I knew you wouldn't understand. I was right too, huh?

Anyway, I started a secret relationship with Robert after our feelings were revealed to one another. I knew you wouldn't accept it; that no one would, so I didn't tell you. He was the only person who could comfort me, who I would allow near me when I cried, who could make me happy, besides what little group of friends I had. You didn't make it easy, and you got suspicious. Yes, Mother, telling me that you wouldn't let me see him anymore if we were doing things more than cousins really encouraged me to tell you the truth. You'd think that I really would lie after you threatened to take the only brightness in my life away from me. Very smart of you. If you had more of an open mind, maybe I would have entrusted more of my feelings to you, but you made it seem like I would be miserable if I told you anything.

You always wondered why I wouldn't let you near me when I was upset, or tried to hide my upset from you. Well, do you recall when my cat got out one time, and we couldn't find her for a day or so? Do you recall how you told me that she would probably come back and then, five minutes later, you'd come back and tell me not to get my hopes up? Oh yeah, Mom, that was a wonderful way to comfort me when I was worried sick she'd get run over or something, since she wasn't used to the city. Why do you think I don't want you to try to comfort me? Your embraces do nothing for me, because I feel no love in them. I haven't for a long time. The only person who can really make me feel better is Robert. I'm not a child anymore, but you refuse to acknowledge that.

After you found out I was cutting the same year I started, when I was stupid enough to tell you, you completely freaked out. I confided in you the horrific visions I had about how I saw myself as a mother, and then went into my daughter's room to see her brutally murdered corpse, and do you remember what you did? You told me I needed help. You looked at me like I was some sort of fucking freak, and told me I needed a counselor. I remember the many times before that year you begged me to see a counselor, but I didn't agree to it because I didn't feel I needed one. I still believe that I didn't, and still don't, since I haven't spoken to my counselor in over a year now.

You started talking to your counselor, and some guy that ran the teen counselor thing or something...and you told me that if I did not agree to see a counselor, they would send me to a fucking psych ward. For cutting. A fucking psych ward. You threatened me that day, and do you realize what you fucking did to me? I completely broke down. I was so fucking scared, I couldn't stop literally screaming while I cried for four FUCKING hours. I wouldn't let you near me. The only person who could get close to me was Robert. I couldn't even speak. I couldn't do anything but cry. That was one of the first things that made me hate you. And you know what's even worse? After I saw the counselor and told her this, she told me it was a lie; that they couldn't send me to the psych ward just for cutting. Do you realize how viciously angry I was with you? You don't, do you?

So I started seeing the counselor every week or two. Do you know what I talked about most? You. Do you know why? Because you pretty much made my life a living hell. You were always whining to me; bitching and complaining about how I didn't seem to care about you or anything. I'm not quite sure how the hell I could give a damn after you betrayed me like that. I'm not sure if you knew, but I tend to hold very strong grudges. It didn't help that you kept screaming at me every time I forgot to do the dishes, or whatever. You'd threaten to not let Robert come over, which made me stressed over school because you knew I needed his help. Of course, you didn't give a damn. All that mattered was your precious kitchen.

You pissed me off and made me so emotionally stressed, you were all I had to talk about. My counselor decided to put you in a program to teach you how to better bond with your child or something. All it ever did was teach you how to give me 'tough love'. It didn't improve our relationship, because all you did was punish me for the stupidest of things, driving me even farther from your reach. You refused to listen to anything I said during our arguments, and even when you did acknowledge it, you wouldn't admit I was right, you'd just completely change the subject and try to pin guilt on me by saying Robert meant everything to me, and all I cared about was myself. You...have absolutely NO fucking CLUE what matters to me. I couldn't have cared LESS about myself back then, and it pissed me off to no end that you would accuse me of being so damned selfish. The truth was I would have committed suicide and gotten away with it if it weren't for my fear of death, and the people I would hurt, excluding you.

Eventually, my counselor saw that our once a week or two wasn't working, because I never had anything to talk about, so she moved it to once a month. Again, you freaked out, because you apparently thought that I had a whole lot of problems. Maybe I do, but not things that a counselor could help me with. I remember one time I slept over to a friend's and missed a counselor meeting at my house. You went nuts, filling their answering machine with messages when my own counselor said that being with my friends was what was BEST for me. You've always made things so damn difficult. Why, I will never know, but it made me even more irritated with you.

When I was sixteen, Robert and I had sex for the first time. We used a condom, and he thought it broke, so we had to wait at emergency for the morning after pill...for five hours or more. At first, you didn't suspect a thing because we were good at lying...but Robert left the drug bag on the fucking table. My biggest mistake was trying to lie about it. You then found out about our relationship, and you blew up. You kept asking me why I didn't tell you. Thinking about it angers me; thinking about anything to do with you angers me. Do you know why? Because you were stupid enough to believe that I would tell you after you threatened to take him away from me. How could you possibly think I'd tell you a damn thing when your way around things was to threaten me? You must be fucking senile. I'm just glad you didn't ban him....Only for a damn entire week. We saw each other anyway...but still. At least I never got pregnant. You have to expect lies when all you do is threaten me.

You were such an open-hearted mother; always understanding, listening to me, loving me no matter what my choice...Yeah right. That's a fucking joke. Even if you did love me, you still judged me, and you were still childish as hell, and a pretty crappy mom to boot. You even told all of your friends about how horrible I was. It took you two years to acknowledge the fact that Robert and I were a couple. You didn't want to believe it, and you refused us the right to show our affection to one another. We wouldn't have shown any in front of you, but you went as far as forbidding us to even kiss under your roof. It didn't stop us, but doesn't that show how open-minded you are? You even made me leave my door open so you could 'keep an eye on us', not that it lasted long.

These were only some of the biggest highlights of everything that completely drained my love for you away. After all, it took three years. By then, I couldn't stand the sight of you. I couldn't stand being anywhere near you, and my friends hated you as much as I did. I wonder why. After all of the pain you caused me...it's a wonder I haven't tried to cut you out my life for good. I think it's because you'd make it difficult by trying to put another guilt trip on me. I don't want to get into another argument and explain to you exactly why it is I can't stand you, because then you'll make it all about you, and make me out to be the bad guy. You always make it out to be all about you. You say you aren't selfish in the least, but all you've ever done is whine about how I treat you, how I make you feel, how I don't respect you and how I don't deserve respect from you because I don't respect you. That's all you've ever cared about, yet you pay more attention to your friends than you've ever paid to me.

You weren't even there on my eighteenth birthday. You slept over to a friend's and didn't come home 'til the evening. On my seventeenth birthday, you were over to Lorraine's. Even on Christmas Eve and Day, you weren't there one year. How can you call yourself a loving mother if you don't even want to spend those important days with me? You hate Christmas too, even though you know it means the world to me. Every year, you've managed to ruin it for me somehow since we moved. Not only that, but one year when I was at my grandmother's with Robert, you called and screamed at me to come home and take down the tree. Before I got there, you'd already done it, and you'd broken my favorite Christmas ornament; one my grandparents on my dad's side gave me before we moved. You have no fucking clue how much that hurt me. You were too blinded with your anger to even notice.

There are only a few more highlights I can think of now. Another is during April of last year, while I was in grade 12 (level three). I was talking to people online, and you came barging in, screaming about the dishes as usual...and you suddenly pulled the conversation over to Robert part of the way. I don't remember much of the argument, but I remember how you told me to turn off the computer, and that I would not be allowed to use the phone either, for the whole night. I told you that if you did that, I wouldn't have anything to stop me from giving into cutting...because I had given it up, but still got the urge. You told me to go ahead, that you didn't care. What kind of mother says that to her child over some stupid fucking dishes? You eventually told me to pack my bags and leave.

I IMed a friend of mine and told her I was coming over soon after. She had her own apartment at the time. I also told Robert to come out and meet me. When I showed signs of leaving, you suddenly wanted to talk it out, but I was beyond that. I was beyond trying. I left with my keys, a bag, and some clothes. I waited out on the bus stop, and Robert walked the whole way over. We got the bus together and spent the night at my friend's. I didn't go to school the next day because I couldn't handle hiding my near break down. I went back home and you were on the computer. You told me I had 'til Monday to decide whether I would follow your rules (as if I was some sort of slave) or whether I would get out. I left again because I couldn't handle it. I nearly did leave, but I later didn't, because you came crawling back, begging me to come home. That is something I don't think I'll ever be able to forgive you for.

I was studying for exams that same year, and you'd been away the whole week. When you came home, you screamed your head off at me because we didn't do the dishes. The fucking dishes. When I was studying for my Biology final exam, you were only worried about your god damn, fucking, stupid kitchen. At one time, I remember showing you my marks, and you always told me to try harder. You said I wasn't doing good enough...and comparing then to that? I often wonder if you really care about me at all. I barely managed to pass Biology. I got a 50%, the lowest mark to pass. I think the teacher did it out of pity.

After that year, and I got my final report card, I remember it being the first ever report card where I actually passed every subject. That was one day that I actually expected your approval. I expected you to hug me and tell me you were proud of me, because it was the first year out of three in high school that I actually passed all seven subjects. Robert was proud of me...but when I showed you, you made no reaction whatsoever. You put it down and called someone. You didn't say anything to me, even though you claimed you did when I brought it up. You have a habit of twisting things around to suit you. I don't do that. The most important thing to you was your phone at all times.

The year after, we had our occasional arguments, but they had seemed to cool down. Robert even got a good job. I had stopped seeing my counselor even before you nearly kicked me out, and hadn't felt the need to see her since. It wasn't until the midterms that things really got bad. I hadn't studied for my midterms at all, and do you know why? Because you wouldn't stop screaming at me about house chores the entire time, even though you knew those exams were important. I told you I needed to study, and you told me in return that you didn't care. You literally said that if I couldn't do the dishes, you would make me fail my exams.

The only exam I passed was English. I failed both my Psychology and math exam. Thankfully, my Psychology mark was unaffected...but my math, which had once been near the sixties, mid-fifties, had dropped to a 37 average. Do you know why? Because you didn't give a damn about what I needed to do. You only cared about your fucking kitchen. You were always whining about how you had to work three days a week. Well, here's a reality check for you, mom. I had to go to school five days a week, and I came home with homework nearly every single day. My math mark, currently, as far as I know, is a 33. Thank you so much for causing that. I really appreciate it. Of course, when I told you, you then accused me of blaming ALL of my failures on you. Since when have I ever did that, huh? I only blame people for what they have caused. I can't very well STUDY if you are constantly coming in and out of my room, screaming at me. This is something else I might never be able to forgive you for.

After that, not even a year's difference, we got into yet another argument, where you threatened to kick me out again. I remember vaguely about you threatening to call the cops and drag me out. I remember saying I had nowhere to go, and you telling me that that wasn't your problem. And you were kicking me out because I wasn't doing chores around the house. That's a wonderful excuse, mother. You even started to urge me to try to hurt you, and you told me that if I tried, you would call the cops on me. One time when I tried to shut the door on you, you hurt your arm, and you accused me of abuse. Way to go, mother. You were so fucking loving those nights.

After the midterms, that was the last straw. I wasn't staying there to fail my final exams. I didn't care what it took, but I decided that I was leaving. I had told you we planned on moving over the summer, and you started whining about not wanting me to go. After all of that though, there was no chance of me staying. You reached the end of the line. I wouldn't allow you to continue to control my life and relationships. I'd had enough.

It was bad enough that you tried hogging the computer AND the phone, that you complained when I used the phone ONCE out of the whole day, that you ate food Robert bought for him and I without our permission, and then when you said you bought stuff for me, you ate it yourself....but to put me in danger of failing the year, keeping me from graduating, and then that last stunt with trying to kick me out? No.

I have never asked much, if anything, at all of you. I have never once asked you to buy me things I knew you couldn't afford because we were on welfare. I let you do whatever you wanted, even if I knew it was something you shouldn't. You stayed out all day, stayed out all night on important days, and I didn't say a damn thing. But the moment I try to live my life the way I want, you always had a problem. You never tried to understand, you never listened to a word that came out of my mouth. I was never good enough for you, so I stopped trying to be. Each and every little thing you've done has made me hate you a little more. You don't even realize it. Even now, you act as if it's all about you. You complain I never call or visit. The one time I did visit, you refused to come home and see me. I never call because I haven't been able to start missing you yet.

Like I said, I can't stand you. I don't want to talk to you, visit you, spend time with you, or anything. I'm not over everything you put me through. I'm not over any of it. I can't help but wonder what you'd do if you knew I was bi. None of you know, and none of you ever will. I'm sick of you and your bullshit, and I'm sorry that I don't feel love for you anymore...but it was all your doing. You only have yourself to blame. I'm done with it. There's nothing more I can do for you. There's nothing left of me to give. You drained it all away. You froze it, and it shattered into ruin. It's bad enough that, before I told social services that I moved, you got my money and used half of it for your fucking bills when I need it for dental care. I can never seem to escape you, but at least I don't have to live with you anymore.

Maybe, just maybe, if you leave me alone...I might start missing you. Then again, I might just forget about you altogether. Somehow, I think that would be best. I was never one to easily forgive; not after so much hell.

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I don't ask for pity, or judgment. I posted this purely because I felt like it. Maybe so some of my close friends could get a better view of what my life was like with my mother.

If any of those who do not know me comment...please do not give me pity. I didn't ask for it, and I don't need it.

By the way...if anyone has anything to say about incest, don't. I don't care what you think, how you feel, or what you might have to say. This was my choice. Your opinion doesn't matter to me.