To my mom
I know I could never say it to your face.
Dear mom,
I know that I was never in your plan. You never had the motherly instincts, for me, at least. Your parenting style was Benadryl and Nyquil, while we needed love and attention. But, maybe it was just for me. My brother, you give him everything he wants. Money, permissions. Love. Maybe you had to save up all of your love for him. He needs it, because his dad is so awful. And I can take care of myself. At least, that's what you tell yourself. I remember when I told you I needed you, I was 14. You caught me harming myself, and you told me you didn't understand. How could I do something so heartless, and why don't I just drive the knife through your heart. That's when I knew it wasn't about me. There was something inside you, big or small (but I presume big) that didn't want me to need you, because you knew you would never need me. But, like I said, that's when I knew. I knew that I would never have the mother I wanted, I knew that I would never be enough to be wanted by you, and ultimately, I knew I did not, in fact, need you.
About the Creator
Abbigale Davis
I write what I feel. I dig deep into my emotion, and create something that is frightening and exhilarating all at once. Or I’m just silly.
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Trapped In My Own World
My early childhood: I have spent my life never feeling like I am enough. I am not placing blame on any one person, because I know a lot of my feelings stem from some very deep-rooted internal issues; caused, admittedly, by many people, but to place the blame on one person would be a great injustice to the rest. I was born to parents who weren’t ready for such a title, a young woman who simply wanted to exist, and a young man who was only human. Just a few months after being born, my mother left my father in Colorado, to go home to her parents in Arkansas, and she took me with her. I grew up hearing stories of my mother leaving because she caught my father cheating on her with a woman who was in the same squadron as my Air-Force dad, a woman who had babysat me, gone to clubs with my mother, and seven years later, became my stepmother. My father, naturally, denies it, and claims my mom just wasn’t happy there anymore, and wanted to be back home. I don’t really believe either of them. I believe there’s elements of truth to both of their stories–my father became exclusive with my stepmother before the divorce was even finalized, and my mother has never liked to stay somewhere too long–but there was one thing that my father did not deny. He was noticeably happier when my mom and I had left.
By Abbigale Davis4 years ago in Confessions
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