Mom

I told myself you’d never get another thing from me.

No more words.

You don’t deserve my thoughts of you.

You gave me life and it didn’t stop there.

I hate the word.

I refer to you as “my mother”.

To me that word has always seemed cold and distant.

And that’s all I wish to be from you.

You were supposed to take care of me.

You were supposed to feed me.

Nurture and love me.

I was never supposed to have a job at such a young age.

Taking care of you, myself, and my little brother was not supposed to be my responsibility.

I was so small.

I wish I could say anything redeeming. Like maybe you were focusing on yourself.

But you weren’t.

You wanted out so bad.

You cut, you cheated, you lied, you drank, you stole, you popped pills, and you slept.

You were never planning on taking me with you.

But I was forced to watch.

Forced to listen.

I had to stay put or else I wouldn’t love you.

If I abandoned you, you’d never forgive me.

The world fell apart before I was even in it.

It all seemed right.

I thought everyone was wrong except you.

My resentment for you made me sick.

How could I feel that way about someone who gave me life?

You give so much to people, that is true.

But none of it has ever been asked for or ever wanted.

Genetics must be some sick joke.

I look in the mirror and you’re staring back.

I can change my hair, my glasses, my makeup, my clothes.

But you’re always staring.

I wish I could break every mirror.

Or I wish I never met you.

I wish I didn’t have to see you.

I wish I was never taught to say the words “I love you” no matter the circumstances.

You have put me in danger.

You have given me so much.

I hate everything that you gave me.

I can’t sleep at night. I can’t drink alcohol without you in my thoughts. I can’t even kill myself because I don’t want to be like you in any way.

If I could veer into oncoming traffic and forget the world you brought me into, I’d floor it.

But you’ve tried that and I don’t want anyone to say I’m similar to you.

You were diagnosed with so many mental illnesses.

Now I’m collecting them and it’s your fault.

Feeling like I’m not real, feeling like I’m unworthy, and feeling like everyone in my life has wronged me.

I can’t call another my mom because you tainted the word.

I have had figures in my life that I wanted to call mom.

But guilt consumed me from your family saying I would only ever have one mom.

When I have my daughter, you will never see her.

I can’t have you tainting the word “grandma” for her.

I can’t have her think that every mother is a good mom.

I can’t be mad at you forever, so I will make it as if you never existed.

You’re not my fucking mom.