i don’t really care if i get a lot of comments back, i don’t even care if anybody ever reads this, i’m just glad that my words will finally be outside my own mind. i’ve written 3 drafts of this letter. not because it’s bad grammar or whatever, i really couldn’t give a fuck, but because i don’t know what to write about. the past ones have been about my life in general and how much i think it sucks, but then i get caught up on one aspect: my mom. so here’s to you….
dear the overbearing, heartbreaking, annoying as shit, fugly, bitch whose vagina i came out of (still trying to disprove it),
i don’t like you. you can probably tell by the way that i don’t look at you, don’t talk to you, and don’t sit in the same room as you, but whatever. you’ve made me cry almost everyday for the past few weeks, and here i am writing a letter dedicated to you, with tears in my eyes. i can’t tell you how much i cannot wait to go to college over 800 miles away from you. for as long as i can remember, you’ve been criticizing my life and the person i am. my grades aren’t good enough, my clothes aren’t stylish enough, my hairs not the right color or style, i smell, i can’t sit right, i can’t drive, i can’t do anything right and i’m sick of trying. i’m fucking sick of everything you make me feel. do you know that i’ve never allowed myself to have a serious relationship because i don’t want him to have to meet you? probably not because you never ask me anything about my life. you’ve stopped me from exploring the world, making new friends, and doing anything enjoyable. you’ve blocked me off from my friends, banning me from seeing them. you’ve ruined the supposed best summer of my life. did you know that i have a list of things that i want to do this summer? of course not. you’re only interested in the lives of your other children. do you know that i’ve never said “i love you” to anyone? i’m sure you don’t even realize it when i don’t say it to you because of course you don’t ever listen to what i have to say. not to you, not to dad, not to my brothers or sisters, not to my friends, not to boys that i actually might love. i keep all my feelings locked up inside my head because i’m afraid that others might treat me as bad as you do. the only ones who hear those dreaded three words are animals. isn’t it funny how i only share with those who cannot talk? i don’t think so. the only times you’re interested in spending time with me are when it’s convenient for you. if you don’t have anyone to talk to or if there’s nothing on tv, sure, come running to me and i might actually accept your company because i’m naive. i’m a stupid, fat (i’m actually considered underweight according to the doctor, but thanks for the support, mom!), careless bitch who’s greedy and manipulative and lets people stomp all over me. at least that’s what you tell me. a mother-daughter bond is supposed to be unbreakable. you’re supposed to be the one i can turn to, the one whose advice i seek, but instead, you’re the person i fear the most. you don’t hit me, no. that would look bad for you (although you took a swing once). but it’s not any cut or bruise that could make me feel the way i do. it’s the way you treat me and the way you make me feel inferior to anyone. i bet if you read this, you would even punish me for how stupid it makes me look. not for the tears and hatred that are buried in the words, but for how it reflects on my brain and my smarts. i’m sorry i’m not the smartest person in the world, but i got a full scholarship to school and you never seem to remember that. you know what? no. i’m done. i’m done apologizing for being who i am. i am a drug using, body piercing, hair dying, cussing lady and i’ll probably end up an alcoholic whore. if you can’t appreciate or even accept that, well then fuck you. fuck you and your standards. fuck you and your heartless self. all i ever asked for or looked for in you was acceptance. i wanted you to be able to tell people “hey, that’s my daughter,” but obviously i’ve asked too much and for that i bid thee adieu. i don’t care what it takes, but when i leave this house, i’m going to make damn sure that i never have to come back and live with this constant insecurity.
so there you go. a letter to you, my dearest mother. the person who kept my body alive, but killed my soul. i hope you rot in hell.
love, the daughter i know you regret having
p.s. (not part of the letter to mom) i know that some of the readers out there probably think this is atrocious and will think it’s all my fault. but i’m okay with that. i know that everyone’s relationship with their mother is different and some people may not even have a mother to have a relationship with, so i apologize to anyone whose opinions may have been argued against, but i refuse to apologize for the way that i feel.