"Ask me why she scares me. Do you wanna know why I’m angry? Can’t you tell I’m crying? Mother I don’t feel good. You will always be the bitter, saddest part of me. " Maria Mena (Power Trip Ballad)
Dear woman living in my house,
As much as I have tried to make things work, be a good young lady, get good grades, do well in school, surpass expectations, I have come to the realization it will never be enough and it will never solve any problem that we are facing. I used to hold this idea if I did things differently or performed better my household would function how it should. This however is not the case.
In elementary school I developed the concept if I just behave certain ways I could get by. I could pretend things were okay and get by. That would keep my family intact. That would steady the waves. This concept that I practiced for many years would sometimes lead to turbulence. For example, I did not achieve the grades I was supposed to in middle school thus showing something was wrong. I was not perfect. I wasn’t smart. I had an inability that tutors could not help (at the time). Having you find out of this problem was not okay. You treated me not how a mother should. I sat on the floor, leaning against the couch crying with you sitting with a look on your face that was terrifying. It reminded me of what you see in movies; before a suspect shoots a victim and there is a look in their eyes/face of calmness but you can see the viciousness of what they are thinking. You spoke in that low tone of voice that was shaky. I got a C in math. It must be the end of the world! I thought it was for me. You were ready to hit me. I saw it. I saw it in your eyes and your body language. However this was not the first time, was it? Do you even remember? Do you remember all the times I ran from you? Do you remember me crying? Did you think this was normal? When you dreamt of having a family is this what you had envisioned?
Remember that time I was so proud of the work I had done for class and you came over, looked at my work and mentioned all the things wrong with my paper? Do you remember how you grounded me for being upset? There is another blow to my self-esteem. I thought I did this wonderful job and you come by and destroy that. Remember telling dad that his child is out of control? I could hear everything you said about me. I can always hear you speak about me; will it ever be positive?
You made it seem like you were proud of me when I played piano. However that did not last long. You were proud until I started making mistakes. Your daughter wasn’t the piano prodigy you thought she was. Remember making me stay with piano for a year even thought I hated going? I dreaded going. I was tired of making mistakes, being forced into practicing piano, forced into sitting at a piano bench for hours just to perfect two lines. It was a joy to play at one point of which you ruined.
It amazes me how you can look at yourself in the mirror. Leave your daughter to catch a ride home with strangers because you forgot to tell her you were going to a concert; or the best time of all when a coach/teacher had to take me home due to you “forgetting.” It was terrifying for me to come home to an unlocked house to find you passed out on the couch. I wake you up to bitch about how I called many many times, as did my dad and all I hear is your slurred words. I left and didn’t come home for hours. No one called. No one cared where I was. I sat by the highway crying; I wondered if anyone cared. Two women on a walk stopped and asked if I was okay. My face red, eyes bloodshot from crying, I choked out a “yes I am okay.” Although this was clearly a lie. They continued on their walk. I just wanted help. I feared going home. I feared you. I feared being in your presence. I can’t even tell you how many times I prayed to God that you would go totally out of control and there would be evidence so I could be taken away from you. I can’t even express how terrified I was of you.
So many times I would run to the bathroom in fear of you. I would lock myself in since it was the only safe room. You confronted me so many times in an outrage over little things, especially in high school. If I didn’t fold a towel right I was subject to scorn, a drunken rage. I would be resting in my room after a hard practice and you would barge in screaming at me with that same look in your eyes.
Today, all I have to do is say what is good about my day and you call me selfish. You call me so many names and cuss when there is no such need. You act out wherever we are. I feel like I am walking on eggshells every time you are around me.
You terrified me and in my own home there was no refuge. I went to dad and he was no help. Ignoring the problem because confronting it would create more turbulence and we both could not have it. If you were to ask me if I would be mad at him, I would say no. He works hard and provides for me. Your money goes to your drinking and it angers me dad works so hard for you to spend thousands of dollars on your habit. He has also faced you and your insanity. He has the task of calming you down. I feel bad for him. He deserves much better. When I go out with him, single women start talking with him. Pretty women who I’m sure have better jobs than you and I can see joy in their eyes. He deserves someone like that, not you.
I’m tired of you blaming everything on me. I’m tired of you not stepping up and providing a better life for yourself. For me. For dad. I’m mad at you for not doing anything, not one thing, when a therapist told you I had an eating disorder. She explained how I couldn’t even hold my head up when I came in to talk with her. She told you I was close to having a heart attack. She told you I needed in-patient and you did nothing. You did nothing. What kind of person hears that, and hears how their daughter was in the hospital, is really sick and does nothing about it? How can you look yourself in the mirror? I was sick. Horribly sick and not one person stepped up to help me in my so called family. I could die; I was screaming for help. I paid over a thousand dollars out of my own pocket for out patient help. I was desperate and you didn’t care. You drove me home from that appointment angry. How could I ever come to you? How do you hear this as a mother and not do a single thing to help?
Throughout all these years, for ten years of dealing with an eating disorder, in dealing with drugs, and depression I’m finally realizing I’m going to break away from you. I’m going to take care of myself. You made me hurt for way too long. I feel like I’m finally going to take care of me since no one else will. Someday soon we are going to break apart and to be honest I never want to speak with you again. One day I hope you wake up and realize how horrible you were to me and apologize. Maybe then I will find forgiveness.
Sincerely,
The stranger in the other room.
