Things Untold

Dear Mom,

There’s a lot I’ve never said to you. A lot that I probably never will say to you. Time and endless repetition has taught me that there’s not much for me to say that you’ll hear. So I’ll write this instead. I’ll cast these words to the wind through fire and hope that some day you understand them, even if you’ll never hear them from my lips or read them from my pages.

I remember when you used to rule the world. You were a warrior queen with an absent king, and it didn’t seem to bother you at all. You missed your other half while he was gone, but you still stood strong and proud. You ran the household, kept me on my schoolwork even when I was struggling the most, always made sure I made it to softball practice on time, paid the bills, planned parties and dinners. And you never stopped smiling and laughing through it all. Even when you were stressed and overwhelmed, it never seemed to taint your happiness and freedom.

I miss that person you used to be. You’ve changed so much that some days I wonder if any of what I remember was real, or if it as just a little kid’s idolization of the only parent that’s always been there.

I know that it was all real though. You were that strong and happy. For a brief moment, you knew that you didn’t need a man. Maybe that was because you had the illusion of one. You taught me all the cliches about girl power and you taught me the deep meaning and truth behind them, sometimes on purpose and sometimes on accident.

I wish that had never changed, but I know it did. You’re so different now. You have yourself convinced that you need a man to survive in the world, to get anywhere, to do anything. I didn’t mind so much at first. First I was too young to notice, and then you had a safe and stable man anyway, and it didn’t matter. But then that stability fractured. The perfect man stopped being so perfect, and the distance became something bigger than just work trips. So you brought home a new one.

It was such a whirlwind that I didn’t know what was going on at first, but once the dust settled, I told you. I told you he was bad, I told you he couldn’t be trusted. I told you, I warned you, I begged you, but you wouldn’t listen. Nothing I said mattered, and then I didn’t matter. All that mattered was the new man, even before you slept with him. I still wonder once in a while if that happened sooner than you ever admitted, but in the end it doesn’t matter enough for me to even remember to ask. Sleeping with someone is nothing. Bringing them into your life is everything. Throwing away your daughter for him is even more. You never believed me, until it was too late.

That night was five years ago now, and I was only able to talk about it once. I begged for a voice, I told you I wanted to go to court with you, I told you I wanted to share my side of the story. You said you wanted to protect me from having to live through it again, and at the time I believed you. Maybe if I’d thought about it more then, I would have realized, but since I couldn’t speak, I threw myself into other things. Sharing my story was how I needed to cope with what happened, but you wouldn’t let me do that, so I had to find other ways. It was only later, once the world had calmed again, once we were safe again, that I realized you weren’t protecting me. You were silencing me, because you knew I’d be ruthless. He used a gun, and I would have used words. Maybe if I’d been able to tell my story, he wouldn’t have gotten away with it. Maybe if you had seen me standing there, shaking, both scared and furious, spreading the facts before you, before the people, before the court…maybe then, you finally would have seen me again. Maybe then you would have realized how wrong it was to go near him, to talk to him, how wrong you were to bring him into our lives. Because his threats weren’t enough to do it. Maybe, if I’d been able to speak then, it would have been over then.

I wasn’t allowed to speak, and it wasn’t over. Five years have come and gone. It took longer than it should have, but you finally left him behind. Unfortunately, you didn’t leave behind the need for a man. You’ve brought others into our lives. None of them have been as bad as he was, but none of them have been as good as you wanted to believe they were. Every time, I try to tell you, and every time, you don’t listen.

I think I heard it somewhere else, originally, though I don’t remember where or from who, and I don’t think I believed it when I did anyway (that’s probably why I don’t even remember it), but through watching these men you date in your desperation to rebuild the perfect little family, to get yourself a new husband and me a new dad, I’ve been able to watch and learn the truth. Three months, like clockwork, and their charm wears away. I’ve told you that too, but you don’t believe it.

These are the things I’ve told you that you don’t listen to. These are the reasons I stopped talking. These are the reasons that there are so many more things that I haven’t told you. This is the reason I’m writing this letter.

It took a long time, but you finally stopped bringing random men into our lives. I’m grateful for that, at least, but I know the reason isn’t a good one. Instead of bringing in new men to abuse you, you allowed a ghost from the past to revive and manipulate you, manipulate us both. I know you hate that I resist this, but I won’t fall into the trap he’s laid for us, the one you’re so determined to dive into. He’s trying so hard to make us this perfect little happy family, forcing his way into our home, claiming it as his own too. He calls you his wife and me his daughter. He doesn’t respect our boundaries, our rules, our systems or our comfort. And I’m tired of you waiting for him to be in town to get anything done. He doesn’t do it anyway.

I want to leave. I want to move out so badly that it hurts. There are so many things I want to do…none of it I can do while I live with you. You stand in my way. You think I miss the ways you manipulate, how you hold onto my so hard, so desperate to not be alone? I know when I move out, you’ll welcome him back in with open arms. You won’t have me in the way anymore, you won’t have to pretend you don’t want him here. I know as soon as I leave, you’ll welcome him back. He’ll probably move in, officially, giving up the pretense of living with in the house he bought with his friends, the house he was supposed to live in so he could be with them when they need friends.

But that doesn’t matter. What you do after I leave won’t be any of my business, just like what I do even now isn’t any of yours. I hope you learn, some day, to live on your own. To be independent again. I hope that you won’t fall apart when I leave, especially now that you have animals in your care, animals that I’ll have to leave behind because of the circumstances you’ve dragged me into. I’m trying to accept that, and trying not to think about it all at one. I know you think I never do anything, that I’m lazy and defiant. I know you’ll never believe, that all this time, all I ever do, is work. Constantly. Determined to get out of here, to get away from you.

You’ve told me so many times, tell me even now, that you don’t want to turn into your mother. You already have. I cut off contact with her. You’ve been the only consistent thing in my life, for better or worse. I don’t want to have to cut you off too once I move out, but here’s the thing that I have to write because I’ll never tell you: If I have to, I will. My own freedom and happiness is more important than my theoretical obligation.