I wanted to tell you my secret. I love you. I think you’re a good person. And I think you’ve really tried to be a good mother. I understand what you’ve done for us and what you’ve given up for us. I’m old enough now to get it. And I’m so sorry you thought you had to do that. But that’s not my secret. My secret is what I’m scared of most in this world. I’m terrified of ending up like you. I terrified that when I’m your age, I’ll be divorced and angry and bitter and unhappy. I’m scared I’ll resent my kids, and remind them every day how they are the reasons my life is so fucked up. I’m scared I’ll have a job I hate and live in small apartment that I can’t even really afford. I worry that one day I’ll make my children feel like they are the problem, ignoring the fact that I’m the one who needs help. I’m scared they will grow to hate me and count the minutes until they can leave and never have to look back, like we do now. I’m scared of hating myself. And pushing all that hate at the ones who try to help me most. I’m scared of becoming paranoid like you and unsocial and mean. Mom I don’t want to be you. But every day I notice subtle things that remind me I’m your daughter. And I hate it. I hate it more than anything. So, when I do leave, when I can finally be okay with leaving you alone because you can’t be my responsibility forever, I hope you understand why I don’t come back. I hope you understand why I don’t call or don’t visit. I hope you understand that a person can only take so much after twenty years. I love you mom, but I don’t want to ever have anything to do with you ever again.