You Can't Control Everything

Dear Mom,

         You know, right now I could rant and rave about how selfish you are, about how much I hate your mood shifts and how you pick fights with me over things that are mine and in no way concern you in the first place. But, I know it's useless because you will just turn it all around on me. I just want you to understand something.

         For me, good days are few and far between. I spend every morning trying my best to cover my true face with bright shiny colors, to be the optimist in the house, to be the one ray of sunshine this family has. I deal with my daughter's whining, my fiance's pessimism, our dog's anxiety issues, plus I run the house, control the money, make sure everyone has clean clothes to wear, cook, and clean. And I do it all with this feigned smile on my face like I actually fucking enjoy it. But, you know what Mom, I don't. I fucking hate it. I hate every last second of it.

         Everyday I fight off ideas of just taking my daughter and dissappearing. I fight off ideas of just throwing my hands up and saying I quit and going back to living on the streets. I even fight off these suicidal tendencies, which never really left me - I've just become better at hiding them.

         Then, the one good day I have, the one day that I actually feel okay and everythings running like a well oiled machine in the house, you saunter in and cut my entire mentality back down to the place where I was when I didn't want to be alive. You come in and tell me everything I'm doing wrong, and insist I change the things in my household to meet your requirments. Well, guess what Mom, THIS IS NOT YOUR HOUSE!

         These are not your things. Loki is NOT your dog. Daffy is NOT your child. David is NOT your fiance. And this is NOT your life. You have no right to make me feel like shit simply because you were a failure as a mother.

         Okay, maybe that's taking it a little too far. You weren't a failure as a mother - because all things considered I came out pretty decent. What I mean is this is my turn. This is my turn to be a woman and make the family desicions. This is my turn to take care of a household and stress myself out and have grey hairs appear on my head. This is my turn, Mom, so please just step back and let me live.

         If you want to keep comming in my house and throwing these fits, if you want to run my life and yours too, if you want to control everything then I will sign the adoption papers and you raise the baby. You can have everything, and I'll go back to living on the streets. Honestly, sometimes, I think I had it better when I had nothing. Honestly, when you put me out all those years ago, I was the happiest I have ever been. Honestly, if you really want it, you can have all of this. Take it all. And I can just disappear.


Love,
Ladybug