To the woman I call “Mother”
14 October 2014, 09:20
This will be the last letter I write to you.
I have written countless other letters before, but could never muster up the courage to give them to you, not because I was reluctant to, but because I was petrified of the slurs that would follow for expressing how I felt. You always did manage to make me feel dirty for being emotive.
I suppose that is why as an adult today, I have so much difficulty communicating my feelings in a relationship context.
I have bottled in so much pain and bitterness over the years, and have had to endure muffled cries so often that it has literally made me sick.
I suffer from many a mental disorder, that I’ve become terribly unfamiliar with the concept of sanity. I have to contend with panic attacks and the migraines that follow when someone upsets me.
I’m living with personality disorder and have had to seek companionship from depression on occasion. I remember when I was so consumed with my resentment of you that I treated anyone who dared be compassionate towards me with contempt. I recall the feelings of inadequacy and insecurity I suffered in my desperate need to receive some sort of approval from you.
I recall how I felt compelled to turn to cigarettes, alcohol and sex to feel whole because I assumed I was unworthy of better. I recall that timid little girl trapped inside me, crying out for even an iota of some motherly affection from you; only to face constant rejection from the very same woman who gave birth to her.
I recall the self-hatred I developed in the process, as questioned why I disgusted you so much. I recall the several failed attempts at committing suicide and how apologetic I would be for being inept even at that.
I was a pathetic and miserable soul back then. That is, until I decided to forgive you for being at war with your own demons.
I look at you now and I feel nothing but pity for you.
I was sensitive enough to evaluate my part in our estranged mother-daughter relationship and fix what was broken in me; yet you will never get that rare opportunity because, according to your comprehension, you are beyond fault. As far as you’re concerned, you are too superior a being to ever err.
I feel sorry for you because you are so terrified of confronting what is wrong with you that you’d rather live with being mean to the people who care too much for you to walk away. Well, at least that used to be the case.
Now I fear, dear mother, that you might have finally succeeded in pushing me away for good.
I can no longer be your enabler, nor do I want any part in this toxic bond any more. And I truly hope you never breakdown again because I won’t be there to mend what has continuously tried to break me.