I’m not sure when it all started, but I’ve always been a liability. A little much for everyone.
I’ve always longed for love, I still do, there’s never enough for me.
I have to ask for favours for you to notice me.
I’m always the one reaching out, if I were a boy, would you have loved me like you love them?
I wasn’t born with this, you made me who I am today and I don’t think I can forgive you for that. Everyday is a battle inside my head, some days worse than others, you would think running away would have solved my issues, but it just made me aware of them.
I can’t keep in touch with you, not this way. There’s too much to say, too little words.
The abundance of feelings I was cursed with is easily felt through our interactions. Everything you say to me is an attack, every fucking thing.
Our last conversation was the first one you didn’t attack me, but made me realise I am not your daughter and I never have been. I’ve been a consolation prize, a friend, a shoulder you cried on countless times. But never a daughter.
Everything that happened under that roof fell on my shoulders and I had no way to escape. All the coping mechanisms I have are what they say to be unhealthy, but they’re mine. My own safe space even if full of knives and blood.
I’ve lost more than I can count, I’ve depended on people who mistreated me, tell me, mother, who taught me that?
You should have been my shoulder to cry on, you should have been my friend.
Some people were born to have kids, others weren’t, and yet we’re all here, crawling in a dead world, licking love off knives. We’ve never been taught how to love, how to be loved.
I’ve never said I love you, and I don’t think I ever will, for that would be lying and I’ve never been keen on lying.
Every time you apologise, which is rare, it’s always followed by some sort of guilt you feel for something small you did. Without ever acknowledging the bigger picture.
What I want from you is not to be a mother, no, that role can never be fulfilled, but to tell me you recognise me. As someone you created. The monster you created.
The blood I’ve bled, I’ve bled for you.
The tears I’ve cried, I’ve cried for you.
The ache I’ve felt, I’ve ached for you.
Please, don’t tell me you love me, you don’t even know me.
I’m okay, forever, always.
With this letter we part ways, until a new time.
Goodbye, Mother.