Thank you for all the times you hit me when I was a child.
Thank you for hitting me with a belt, and literally rubbing salt and chili powder into my wounds because I picked my wounds, like all kids do. Thanks for hitting me on the head with the laptop when I tripped accidentally over the charging wire and pulled the laptop down along with me as I ran to get the doorbell.
Everyone else praises your tenacity, talent and generosity. And I praise you for all the good times.
But realise this, the good times will never cancel out the bad. The spending money will never cover up the pain.
Thanks for never standing up for me.
Thanks for provoking fights with your horrible husband, and leaving me to get hit on your behalf.
Thanks for being vindictive my whole life, telling me you are ashamed of me, and that I would never do well in life because I got 49.5 on 50 in a 4th grade exam, and not a 50 on 50.
Thanks for continuing to tell this to me my whole life, even though I have stood first in every grade. I guess all parents do this, but I guess they draw the line at telling me how I would be ugly and never marry the boy of my dreams because the best I could do in life was sell my body, and that too not very successfully.
Yes, I still call you every day, but every time you tell me how bad I am, I die a little inside.
Your “I love you’s” do not make up for your vindictiveness. Thanks for giving me the gift of low self-esteem.
You both have scarred me so much, that I would rather let my kids become spoiled and useless than hurt them in the way you hurt me.