I lied. I was never ok with you leaving. Yes, I was glad you got the job, but to get the job you first had to apply. You applied for a job outside of the country. For all you cried, you were okay with leaving me; your only daughter. It doesn’t matter that I was already a senior in high school and would be leaving for college, you still left months before I graduated. You weren’t there for my senior prom. You weren’t there to congratulate me on my anniversary with my boyfriend, who you know I’ve had a crush on since seventh grade. You left me. And now I’m going to see you again, probably for the last time. Sure you say holidays, but who will pay for a ticket? And then you say my wedding, but what if I don’t get married?
You wouldn’t listen to me. I told you that I didn’t like him, that I had a bad feeling about him. Even when he walked in on my changing, you wouldn’t listen. you married him, and thankfully realized your mistake before he did anything to me beyond some inappropriate touching, but that still hurt and scared me. I tried to tell you, but you called me a liar. I’ve never really forgiven you for that. He’s gone forever from our lives, but those memories of his hands won’t ever leave me.
In all honesty, I’ve never really forgiven you for not letting me have a childhood. Not really. From an early age I had to learn to never ask for anything, because you would spend money on jewelry. Sure most of our money went to trips to see family, but still I had to learn to say no to things I wanted since I was young. Maybe in the long run it’ll be good for me, but it hurt when we were on our own for the first time and I would constantly walk past the perfect outfit and say no, because you had just spent $500 on a set of earrings or something. The perfect outfit means so much in high school, at least I had uniforms so it didn’t matter as much.
Even though I understand why you did it, I still don’t like how you took me away from my online friends. Yes, I have never met them, but they were my lifeline. Amidst my depression and suicidal thoughts, they were the ones who kept me alive. They gave me something to live for. Not being able to talk to them only made things worse for me. Because of that, we lost touch and now when I need them again, they’re gone. Sure they’re still there, but I can’t just go back and say I need you. Not for something this big.
I wish I could say something nice, but I can’t. I’ve spent an hour now writing this, trying to think of something I can thank-you for. But you were never a good mother. You were always selfish. I guess I can thank you for me not being selfish, but I’m probably too selfless. A complete pushover. Because of you we moved to Michigan, and because of the cold, I developed Raynaud’s. Because I developed Raynaud’s, I have to get checked for lupus. I guess if I do develop lupus, I could thank-you for giving me a warning sign. I wish I could say even something dumb such as cooking, but you never did. I can’t do a single useful thing, not even something a woman should learn from her mother. The only lessons I’ve learned from you is don’t get pregnant if you don’t want a child, don’t raise a child you don’t want, don’t get drunk in front of your children, listen to your children’s opinion if it will have a major impact on their life, don’t waste money, don’t marry if you don’t love the person, and other things along the same vein.
You’ve hurt me so much, when you were supposed to protect me you shoved me into danger. This bitterness may never fade, I’m not sure how I’m going to handle seeing you again next week. It’s going to be hard, but I guess I have to. You’re my mother, I can’t just stop talking to you even though I really want to. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.
P.S. I couldn’t even say ‘I love you’ in a letter you’ll never read. How am I supposed to say it to your face? Will it be harder, or easier to lie when you’re there?