Dear Mom

Dear Mom,

I’m angry.

I’m angry, disappointed, hurt, and I feel optional to you. I feel like an idiot standing by on the side lines, waiting for you to make some kind of miracle out of your life to come meet the daughter you had 24 years ago. Since speaking to you for the first time, now 3 years ago, I’ve waited for you to show up and surprise me. Just like when I was a child… my first school play, when I made the speech at my graduation, my 16th birthday party… I vividly remember all too well glancing out at the crowds, really thinking that maybe you would come show up out of the blue and just be my mom. I had forgotten you when I was 18 and went to college. My logic finally kicked my ass and I was fine not knowing you. I’m sorry, but I can’t help but think sometimes if we were better off- if I was better off- when you were dead.

And now, 3 years later, I find myself doing the same thing. I even looked out nervously in the audience when I was in my play. I feel stupid.

Do you remember promising me on New Years 2015 that this was our year? You said, “This is our year, babe. I just know it. We’re going to meet.”

I wish I could believe you when you say you’re clean and sober. I wish you could just be my fucking mom. I wish that you could be the mom that I defended all my years as a child. As a CHILD! I was 6 years old and all I was ever told by my grandfather was that you were a street whore and a drug addict- and I defended you. For what?

I wish you would leave your abusive husband: if not for me, then for you. I want you to realize how much you’re worth. I want you to make something out of your life and just be happy for once.

I hate that I’m even in this situation. I hate that I have to worry about you. I hate that I wake up with the feeling that this could be the day you’re going to overdose and die. I hate feeling worried.

Maybe I’m throwing myself a pity party, but I think I deserve one. I want my mom. But you’re not my mom.

It’s easy for me to tell people that I love them. Even if I have just met someone, I feel love and I’m very expressive with it. I wish I felt the love that may or may not be there for you. Mostly, it’s apathy and numbness. Then, it’s sadness, hopelessness. Love is buried there, I’m sure. I can’t feel it.

I can’t do this anymore. It’s not fair to me and on some level, it’s not fair to you. I spent YEARS trying to let you go. When I finally came to peace with letting you go, you came back into my life. I have to let you go again. This time, it’s an option. See, before it was a different story; you were dead. You were gone. I didn’t have a choice. But now, you’re alive and you’re somewhat tangible.

I have to let you go. I am killing myself over you and I can’t do this anymore.

I never let anyone go. If I’m anything like you, Mom, I stay. Regardless of how much shit a person could put me through, I stay like a loyal dog, patient and hopeful that maybe one day that person will realize that they love me.

What a paradox. You were the first person I literally ever had to let go of. You’re the major reason I have such a deep-rooted fear of abandonment. Maybe I’m growing as a person. Maybe I’m stronger now. I let go of you once. I need to do it again, despite the pain and the fear laughing in my face.

I am you. Your eyes, nose, lips, ears, hands, eyebrows and cheekbones. Your addiction, your dark humour, your love for animals. Your resilience, for whatever it’s worth.

I’m so fucking sad. I fought so fucking hard to convince myself that you had a drug problem, that you were younger and more stupid. I had to convince myself that you loved me and that you didn’t just give me away because you didn’t care about me. I literally spent my entire life convincing myself that you wanted me.

You have come into my life and have destroyed that for me. If anything, you have only confirmed that you don’t want me. I am a commodity. I am a bragging right to the little friends you have.

I am the final proof of something that you have touched and have not turned to shit.

I refuse to be vendible.

Now I am left to put my pieces back together. But don’t worry. I have done this before.
I won’t let you ruin me.

I am letting you go. I am letting you go.

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2 thoughts on “Dear Mom

  1. Oloriel says:

    I know it don’t mean much, but I am so sorry you are going through this and I believe in you. Don’t ever let someone else’s version of love dictate what you feel deep down in your heart, which is pure.

    Liked by 1 person

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