And here we are.
32 years and some later. We’ve changed so much. We lived so much, like 3000 different lives. I love you so much, and it’s so hard to let you go. I need to stop hating you. You need that too. I need to learn you’re more than my tormentor, you are the result of what was done to you. Just like I am, just like you raised me to be. And I hate that I hate you. You have no idea how much I hate that I love and hate you. And I’m sorry. I wish things were different, but I just can’t let you destroy me anymore. But I promise you I’ll work hard to live my best life. I will continue working on myself, going to therapy, rebuilding who I am. I will build a beautiful family with a husband who loves and respects me, and who sees me as his equal, as a priority in his life. And we will be great parents. We will make one zillion mistakes, but we will be great parents. And we’ll dream together, build a happy life together, we’ll love life together. We’ll have a beautiful house and cute pets. We will travel the world, we’ll make friends, we will love life together. We’ll make each other better and happier. We’ll love unconditionally. Again and again. In many ways. We’ll forgive each other, we’ll praise each other, we’ll communicate and respect each other. We’ll fight together, we’ll build together, we’ll grow together, we’ll be happy. And you may or may not eventually become a part of it, but I don’t think that will ever happen. You won’t change and neither will I. At least not in a way that will harm me more than heal me. I just want you to know that, from the bottom of my heart, I wish you can cure and love yourself, I wish you can forgive yourself and others. I wish you can apologize and mend relationships you severed. I wish we can become friends one day, but I won’t wait for it to happen. I will live a beautiful life for me. I wish you do the same for yourself. Too bad we weren’t a good match in life. Thank you for all the good things, I’ll cherish it all forever. I guess there’s no such thing as “meant to be” when it comes to mothers and daughters. Sometimes it’s not meant to be. Sometimes this is just a bad idea, a weird nightmare - more uncomfortable than scary, honestly. And that’s ok too, I guess.
As I write this I’m picturing myself reading this letter in front of a mirror, reciting it to you through my own reflection. I have no idea of what that means because I’m very high right now. You know, lots of depression and anxiety. This is my drug of choice for dissociation. Respect that, please. I just needed to get it out of my chest, mom. I decided to write it because you never listen to me and you never cared about how I feel. Anyways, have a good life. Goodbye for now.
