It's Mother's Day

Dear Mom,

Dear Mother,

Dear Laura,

Hi,

It's been nearly five years since we have talked. I've re-written this letter probably a hundred times over during these years, yet it always seems to fall short. But it's Mother's Day, so here goes nothing.

I tell people that my mom is dead.

I tell people that she was my best friend, that she was the kindest, most loving person I had ever known.

But you and I know the truth, don't we?

I never had a mother.

I had a person who gave birth to me while coming down off of who knows what drugs. A person who gave me life, yet made me want to take it...

I never had a mother.

I had a woman in my life that was often not home. You worked multiple jobs to take care of my sister and I. But you missed the biggest point.

Safety.

But the kids were left with Jacob, so nothing could possibly go wrong …

Right?

Then, you only believed Kayla when she told you because she was too young to make it up. Only two years old. But me? I was an attention seeker in your eyes, so my accusations were merely lies.

I never had a mother.

I had a victim who victimized her kids to feel powerful. And you know? I get it. I did the exact same thing when your boyfriend sold me. I did it to the other girls. Years later after I escaped, you were so mad, you told me that if I was going to run away for that long, I should have stayed away.

Right "mom"?

It's okay, you eventually got me to not believe myself that it happened either.

For years, I thought I was crazy. In and out of hospitals, handfuls of meds to make me better. But what it took to truly make me stop lying to myself was finding the necklace from the John.

I never had a mother.

I had a manipulator who won the gold medal in gaslighting. Your favorite line was always "I'm sorry I'm such a bad mother", the moment any word of concern was voiced.

I would grovel and apologize and cover you in compliments, boosting you up on your marble pedestal while making myself as small as possible.

Smaller was easier for everyone, easier for you.

Smaller was safe.

Until it wasn't.

I never had the strength to tell you to your face, but I hated you for making me hate myself that much. That self-hatred has been lifelong, has shaped every decision, every relationship.

I. Hate. You.

But wait...

I never had a mother.

I had a narcissist who gave me bad coping mechanisms, drug addictions, and shitty choice in men. Yet, I still loved you.

When I got divorced, you chose my ex-husband's side. You didn't believe me when I confided the abuses to you, yet I forgave you.

When I tried to bring you into my family's life years later, my family that was finally healthy and loving, you said that the polyamorous dynamic made you uncomfortable. Even then I forgave you.

But then, you tried to say that I wasn't, and would never be, a parent to my children, my three unbelievably amazing children, because my partner was also a woman. You said that our "disgusting lesbian" relationship would ruin the kids. It was then that I decided enough was enough.

(Is it sad that it took bigotry in my twenties to finally do it, and not the abuses of all the years before? Yeah, probably.)

You still leave me voicemails. And emails. And texts. And letters. All of these ask why I cut you out of my life, like you are some amnesiac who doesn't know a thing.

It isn't because of Jacob that trained me, that you should have protected me from.

It isn't because of his friend being a pimp, that you should have saved me from.

It isn't because of the guilt trips or the lies or the gaslighting.

It is because I will not let someone like that ANYWHERE NEAR MY CHILDREN.

My mother is dead to me.

She has been dead for nearly five years.

Good fucking riddance.