Hi. I have been constructing this letter to you for over two years now. I don’t know what to say that could possibly make anything okay — no matter what I say, you’ll never understand how you have made me feel. A mother’s relationship with her daughter is supposed to be one of the best; you’re supposed to be my best friend. How could the person who carried me for eight to nine months to give birth to me treat me so horribly? Am I supposed to apologize for causing you so much pain? Am I supposed to pay you back for taking away the rest of your teenage years?
I feel like you kept me all of those years because you were as selfish then as you are now. You didn’t just want me because of the child support; you wanted me because I was considered the prize. You wanted custody of me because you like to be in control. You wanted custody of me so that you could brag to my dad that you had me and he didn’t. You were wrong. He’s had me since day one, because you were right: I did think that he was the better parent, and I still do now.
I crave a mother’s love all of the time, and I hate it. You always got so jealous of Kimily because she married my dad. You don’t understand how it feels. As much as I’d love for her to to think of me as her daughter, I don’t think she’ll ever feel that way toward me. I need to be a mother’s daughter! I need to be loved by a mother as though I am her own. It pains me every single day, because I know how unlikely it is that such will ever happen. All I wanted growing up was a mother who would love me like I was actually her daughter — like I meant something to her. I wanted a mother who would die for me; instead I have a so-called mother who would throw me onto the train tracks for money.
What kind of a “mother” are you?
You’re the kind of mother who would call up my dad’s side of the family asking where I was if I turned up missing. Then, you would accuse my dad of murdering me. For all you know, that could be your husband. You have no idea what he is capable of, but you don’t see it. You don’t see that all that you two accused me of isn’t actually me; you can’t see that it’s you. You’re the one who doesn’t care about other people’s feelings. You don’t care, and that’s why you don’t see your husband as the problem — you’re exactly like him: sadistic, ignorant, power-hungry. Neither of you deserve to have children.
I am not hiding. I’m fully aware you read know my website URL. In fact, I don’t even mind if you’re subscribed to my RSS feed!
I’m not going to apologize for calling you a bitch two years or less ago. To be quite honest, standing up to you felt nice. You treat me however you’re feeling, so why am I not allowed to do the same? You’re the one who raised me, therefore you are the person I learned all of this from. I personally don’t understand HOW I didn’t grow up to be exactly like you. We may look somewhat alike, and I may sometimes do things that you do, but deep down, we are nothing alike.
I will be seeing my siblings soon. I don’t know how, and I don’t know when. I will see them, though, and they will be reminded of how much I love them.
You caused me to see my biggest fears. I’m no longer a stranger to death. If I had died, would you even fucking care? I’ve been so tempted so many times to post on social media and my blog that I had passed away — in hopes that you would care at least somewhat. I didn’t, because why the hell would I waste that energy on you? While most Christians are terrified of the devil, I’m not. I’m not afraid of him, because I’ve already met him. You’re married to him, and I’m not scared of him.
People say you’ll always be my mother and that I should love you. You’re not a mother in my book, and you definitely didn’t raise me the way a mother should.
I love you. I wish I didn’t love you, but I do. I’m not some kind of prize. I can’t change you, but that doesn’t mean I can’t change other’s points of views.
I thank God that I wasn’t adopted by your husband. I would have killed myself before I was ever his daughter.
“Sometimes child abuse is only visible to the child suffering it.”
P.S. You know that scene in Letters to Juliet about her mother? “You’re wrong…Her mother chose to leave her. You always knew your parents loved you.” You chose to love me. I don’t know if you love me, and that’s messed up. You can’t play the “I’m-your-birth-mother-so-you-have-to-love-me” card if I can’t play the “I’m-your-daughter-so-you-have-to-treat-me-with-love” card. I don’t believe in words as much as I do actions anymore. Actions say everything. Your actions say you’re holding a grudge over me — that you enjoy humiliating me. I know you just use people until they’re of no use to you anymore, but I can’t believe that you would use me. I’m your daughter — flesh and blood or not. Stop acting like you had a horrendous life and as if you should be put up on a pedestal and everyone cater to you because you were adopted. It’s ridiculous. You’re ridiculous.
By definition, I don’t define you as a mother.