An Open Letter to What Used to be My Mother:

Really, even saying “used to be my mother” is incorrect. Someone who consistently puts money and property before her children is not a mother, but rather a selfish child with no empathy for anyone but herself and no care for anyone else’s needs or wants. I gave you more chances to step up than I can count. Certainly quite a few more than I should have. You squandered every last one, and I’m clean out of patience for your bullshit.

I know you don’t understand, or care to understand, just how deep and hurtful a betrayal it is to be told you won’t judge and will try to comprehend my situation and then have you drop me out of nowhere without a word. The thing is, these feelings were completely overwhelmed by relief. Relief that I no longer feel obligated to keep believing in you. You never afforded me that courtesy, so there was no reason for me to give it to you. I promised myself that the next time you abandoned me would be the last time, and I intend to keep that promise to myself and every one that follows. You are a coward, a hypocrite, and not worth another minute of my life. In fact, this letter is for me much more than it is for you.

I really should have known when your lovely sister’s oldest accused me of stealing booze (the $6 bottle of wine I replaced is what she meant, I’m guessing, or the one I offered to replace perhaps? Either way, spreading awful things about me to the people you were claiming to want to reunite me with speaks volumes to how delightful of a human being you are) and hiding drugs (you knew I smoked weed, and you knew I left it in our car because I told you that, but to fit your narrative of me being a terrible person, you had to put it into scare language like “hiding drugs in my sister’s room” and spread it where you thought it would cause me the most damage) that I would never be able to trust you. I’ve always found it funny that for as much as you vehemently condemn lying, everything that comes out of your mouth is at best a half-truth. You gossip about your children to your children, assume things without evidence and then declare them absolute truths, gaslight like it’s your job, and selectively forget things which don’t paint you in a good light. You wouldn’t know honesty if it shook your hand and introduced itself. I guess that’s why you make a good conservative “Christian”.

I think the most telling thing about this situation is that I just can’t bring myself to care about your stupid drama anymore. You’re in my life, you’re out of my life; you’re not judging me, you’re spreading terrible things about me; you’re owning up to the abuse you exacted on us, you’re pretending like we were never abused at all. I have enough of a rollercoaster going on in my life without adding your flip-flopping to the mix. It’s done. I’m done. You can go your own way, and I can stop pretending to myself that I had a single “real” parent worth a damn. Hell, Steve and Helene have been better parents to me in the last year and a half than you in the last 26. It’s nothing short of pathetic that people who have known me for a fraction of the time treat me worlds better than the woman who thought she was my mother just because she gave birth to me. Helene and Steve have been wonderfully kind, understanding, supportive, and people I can actually count on–vast divide between you and them.

But I don’t even imagine any of this matters to you, except of course the parts you find insulting to your weirdly flighty ego that is a hallmark of a narcissistic personality disorder. If you can drop me like it’s nothing, then clearly everything about me is nothing to you. You are the only one who matters to you, and it’s really no secret. You think you’re good at hiding it, but it’s written all over every one of your words and actions and the denial you’ve built up around you to protect yourself from everything you’ve done. I wish I’d let myself see what you were sooner, but all things come to light in time.

That’s really all I have to say. There are plenty more fuckups of yours I could throw in your face like you enjoyed doing to me for way longer than I should have put up with, but I don’t even care enough to hurt you back anymore. I’m just glad I don’t have to lie to myself or hear you lie to me and feel obligated to trust you anymore. I’m glad I can live happily, be myself, and no longer feel the shame you instilled in me for so long or fear your disapproval, which I never should have cared about in the first place. You’re in a terrible position to judge anyone. I’m glad this mother-daughter charade is over and I can finally move past it and everything you did to purposely hurt me.

Good luck to you. People like you usually end up being found out sooner or later and left completely alone. I don’t really care one way or the other. You don’t affect my life anymore.

Good bye and good riddance to you and the rest of the bad rubbish that you came from (the adults, not my cousins or siblings; I can’t blame any of them for the dogma you people shoved down our throats since infancy). I am worth much more than the lot I was given in life, and I no longer see any worth in any of you.