Letter to My Mom — (Trigger Warning : Emotional Abuse and Anger)

[DecimalRocket]

Dear Mom of My Childhood,

I've forgiven my mom in my present. The mom that said sorry. The mom that tried to change her words and actions. Yet I still remember and are hurt by you.

Sometimes you were kind. Loving. You made jokes. You said words of love. You were playful. Charming. Affable. Accepting.

But sometimes you were angry and critcizing. Everyone else saw you as incredibly warm and kind  so I thought this side of you was just . . . my fault. You gave donations to the poor. You were friendly looking and warm. You cried easily at sad movies.

I remember when I was too sick to go to school, I was too tired to talk. And you would talk hurriedly asking whether I wanted to go to school or not. I'd try to speak but exhaustion would come over me. And you would scream at me for not telling you my question soon.

When I got enough energy, I ran away to my room. I'd lock the door. And you would scream at me as you banged on the door. Today, my room has no lock because it's broken. The bathroom then next to my bedroom has broken its lock. Later on, the door knob itself was broken.

Whenever I told you how hurt I was, you told me it was natural. That's how mothers are, after all. They always nag and nag. And worry and worry. You told me I was overreacting. That's how people show discipline after all. How anger is expressed.

You'd get mad at me when I didn't hug or greet relatives with a smile I barely know. No care whether how awkward or shy I could be as a kid. When I'd cry, you'd apologize and you'd do it again. You'd talk to me and when I'd ask for some time alone, you'd tell me how cruel I was.  You'd shout telling me how lazy I was to not take a bath at the same time each day when I always do it at a later time anyway. When I was exhausted from stress, I wanted to sleep without brushing my teeth. And you shoved it in my mouth and held me there as I cried from wanting to sleep.

I have fought back. I kicked you. I punched you. I slapped you. I shouted back. And you were angry and told me how much of a bad child I was. She said she made so much effort to be a mother. So much effort to work hard to raise money for me. And this was the thanks she got? And I spent much of my life thinking it was all my fault — thinking of what was so wrong about me that no matter how much I research on anger, I couldn't fix "my anger issues."

Did you ever bother to ask why I was angry? Did you ever conceive that it is not normal for a child to be so violent for no reason other than being a "bad child"?

No surprise that I spent years supressing empathy and love — because I thought love meant forcing yourself to see how disgusting you were and that you had to sacrifice your every freethinking thought to other people. That I isolated myself in my books and intellectual interests . . . because I could not trust a single person enough to feel any connection in them. And when I tried, it took months till I felt the slightest warmth towards anyone.

No surpise that I was a workaholic even as a kid. That I worked hard until I got violent coughs, colds and fevers. Because my smarts and grades were one of the only things you praised about me. That I'd hate myself for being a liar and a braggart on social media — because I wanted someone to love me. Praise me. And how pathetic I thought I was to be so anxious about social status or fame in every waking moment. My supressed rage included fantasies of murder and genocide.

I remember you told me how frustrated you were at how a pilot commited suicide and caused the plane he was in to crash down. You told me how much you hated him. What kind of idiot would commit suicide? And hurt all those people? Why didn't he get help?

You'd tell me criminals needed to be killed. Thieves. Murders. Rapists. Drug dealers. The president of this country was beggining to kill criminals without giving them trials. And you told me you agreed with him. It's justice after all. Discipline.

I'm sorry mom.

But I hated you. And I loved you. You've shown me the deepest expressions of both love and hate throughout my life. But I . . . needed to remember those darker times too . . . so I wouldn't be so hard on myself. Sometimes I wanted to be wrapped in your warm embrace and nurturing. Other times I wanted to beat you to the ground until you passed out from the pain and tears.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

You're going to change for the better so much in the future.

But I'm still angry. At you . . . and myself even more.

[AphoticAtramentous]

 
I'm sorry to hear how she's treated you, Decimal.