September 7, 2010

  • Dear Mom

    Dear Mom,

    You don’t know this, but I intensely dislike you. In fact, I downright loathe you. Sometimes, I even hate you. How can I hate you and love you at the same time. A better question is, how can I love you? Just because you birthed me? Is that enough?

    I can’t stand how you treat your family and the people around you. You’ve obviously never grown up. Yes, you had a shitty childhood. You lost a baby when you were 15. You’ve had it rough. But once you grew into adulthood, you had the freedom to make your own choices. And you made the wrong ones. Continuously. But just because you made all the wrong choices and kept going in the wrong direction gives you license to treat people the way you do?

    Because of you and your choices, my sisters and I are not okay. Do you care about that? Do you ever think about it? Do you know that it’s your fault? That it’s your fault we were/are all cutters? That we damaged our skin to try and rid ourselves of the pain you’ve caused? Because you hate yourself, you have to destroy us? Will you be happy when we are the ones who are alcoholics? Do you feel guilt?

    Sometimes, I remember the good times. They used to happen more. Now, they are rare. Not so precious a gem, if the person it’s coming from no longer matters to me.

    No longer can you hurt me. I am my own person, and I want nothing to do with you. When Taylor is finally out of your horrid house, I will tell you all of these things, and how much you disgust me. And then, I wish to never speak to you again.

    Remember that beautiful, nice, big house we lived in when I was in high school? At first, people teased me because it was the most expensive house in town. But they didn’t know what happened in those walls, did they? Not until word spread through the small town; about the whore of a mother I had. One who did drugs and neglected her children. No, things aren’t as they seem, are they? You remind me of Faye Dunaway in Mommy Dearest. But that house. My step father called that house The House of Sorrow. But that’s not true, is it? Every single house you’ve lived in has been a House of Sorrow. Because, of the simple fact, that you are the one that lives there. You bring hatred and darkness wherever you are. You are vile. I am not sorry for saying these things. I am not sorry for saying the truth. One time I screamed at you, “If we were so happy, then how come I can’t remember it?!” Truth. It hurts, doesn’t it?

    Oh, but you don’t accept truth. No. You live in a world of denial, don’t you? I figured this out long ago. And I will never understand it. How can you twist the truth of yourself into something that isn’t real? How can you not see yourself and your actions and words as others see them?

    Well, I don’t really care. Because I am done with you. I wash my hands of you. It’s taken me 24 years to figure out that you mean nothing to me.

    You can’t hurt me anymore.

    -Crystal

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