You're Not My Mother Anymore

Dear Mother,

Right now you are upstairs in your room at my house having sex with a guy that I was friends with in elementary school. For years we have made boundaries, the age rules that were forbidden for us to cross. The rule was that 35 and below were mine, and above that age was your territory. The guy you're having sex with right now is definatly no older than 30 and as a matter of fact, His best friend is the guy who I had a one night stand with Halloween night.

I told you I don't want you smoking weed in the house because of the baby, and I smell marajuana smoke comming down the steps. You know I don't smoke cigerrettes in the house and I won't even allow my friends to, but I could smell the stench from his cigerrette lingering in the hallway. Honestly, I don't think I ever realized how much you have absolutley no respect for me until tonite. Absolutley no fucking respect. But you expect me to have respect for you.

A big part of me wants to tell you to give me my money in cash and get the fuck out of my life. I'm so fed up with dealing with this shit. I've spent the last 4 years of my life trying to straighten myself out and make my head work properly. I've spent years on couches in doctor's offices letting them pick through my brain to try to figure out why I'm so messed up. Well, mom, I've figured it out. It's you. And everytime I start thinking I'm so much better, you just fuck up my head even worse.

He's my age, Mom. In fact, he's younger then my boyfriend is.

You're nothing but a fucking whore. Fuck the dumb shit, I'm done being polite. I'm done sugar-coating all this and trying to make myself okay with it. You're a fucking whore and I'm embarrased to even be seen with you because everytime people see me I'm so fucking afraid that they're thinking of me as nothing more then the big black slut's daughter. You've never been a fucking mother to me. Never. When I was little, you beat the shit out of me constintly. Yeah, Ama had to tell me about that. I've spent so many hours of therapy trying to figure out why I can't remember my childhood and in 15 minutes Ama made it perfectly clear to me. I spent weeks at her house not because you sent me there, but because she took me because I was covered in fucking bruises. I spent my whole life thinking I was just one of those well-behaved kids, a natural over-acheiver but no, I was just trying to please you, trying to make sure I wouldn't get the shit beat out of me when I got home. And when Dad died, you'd think that maybe you started showing me a little more compassion but no. You went into servere depression and slept constintly. I cooked for myself, I got my homework done, I fed the animals, I walked to school. I did it all by myself and all you did was lay there. And when you got remarried and we moved to the city you were too busy acting like a teenager to be concerned with me. I ran the streets, and the only person who took care of me was my 22 year old boyfriend - I was only 13, Mom. I had to lie for you to my step dad when he asked me about who you were runnign around with. I had to keep up the lie not telling him how you were fucking the plumber. I sat in bars with you simply because I was desperate to spend time with you and watched you switch around the bars making out with random men. That's where I learned it. You were my mother, I was a kid, I wanted to be like you. So what did I do? I became a whore, too.

And I realized why I can't get angry. I thought that maybe it was just an emotion that just didn't exsist in me, but no. It exsists. But you have burried it so deep within me. All these things you do, all these times that you prove to me how much you don't give a shit about me, I've learned to ignore my anger. I've learned to just push it down and bottle it up and shut my mouth. And the only way it seeps up is in my tears. Well, I'm done crying. I'm done feeling sorry for myself. For the first time in my life I'm really fucking pissed. And I'm so fucking fed up. No one, no one in my entire life has done as horrible things to me as you have. You have fucked me out of the family farm, out of money, threw me out on the streets, fucked me up i nthe head, and now this. And I'm not going to feel sorry for you. I'm done listening to your sob stories about how you want to kill yourself and how you're going to start cutting yourself and shit. I'm done. If you're going to do it, then fucking do it. Where were you when I took all those pills? Where were you when I loaded the shotgun and was trying to figure out how to pull the trigger with it aimed directly at my brain? Where were you when I lined my body in crosshatch scars? Where were you when my razorblade was my best friend? Where were you when I drank all that bleach?

Where are you right now when I just vomitted up everything I ate because of how absolutley discusted and enraged I am? You're in that room, fucking him. And I can hear you.

I'm done. If you were anyone else in my life I would've already written you off and forgotten about you. But this is it. Merry Christmas.


-Nizza