Saturday, May 17, 2008
Dear Mom,

I have just spent the last three hours listening to recordings of you ramble on... You have rambled on to yourself, you have rambled on to your animals, you have rambled on to no one at all. You have laughed and you have cried. You talked with perfect sentence structure and you have mumbled and made no sense at all. You have refused to do nothing. You have told noone to leave you alone. You swear you are not doing it again and we are all trying to put you away. You have gone on about not being able to remember. You have confirmed you will one day go for coffee and you have asked for water with ice. You’re breath has been torn between orgasmic and terrified, sobbing tears. And the scary thing is... You have been recording yourself the whole time.

Noone put the recorder there to catch you in your craziness. The tapes show that you are clearly knowledgeable of turning the recorder on and off yourself. You acknowledging the fact that you should have started recording sooner or should turn the recorder off, prove that it’s you recording yourself. What are you trying to accomplish? Whose voice do you think you are recording? Whose questions are you answering? Who are you telling that you’re not willing to do it, to?

The recordings of you and my father talking... They are nothing more than you rambling about what a bitch I am, how your son’s a pig and how my father is an asshole. They show you being relentlessly ruthless, maliciously hateful towards anyone who loves you and pretty fucking evil, period. Somehow you think the false charges of abuse you brought against him justify your actions. Somehow you think the fact that you weren’t caught drinking and driving before we took your car away, means you aren’t a fucking drunk and you have done nothing wrong. Somehow you think, I am your nemesis and you somehow believe that the hundred thousand dollars you stole from him, were yours to begin with. Somehow, you believe him seeing another woman now, is a mistake he made... Him being unfaithful, despite the thousands of times you have told him it's over since your mind seemed to have slipped.

You go on about how you’ve given me so much and you and you alone have done so much more for me than you have done for any of my siblings. You then ask why I deserve so much more, failing to realize that not only did I not ask for anything, but I have been paying back every fucking penny you (and Matin, because we both knows it was his money to begin with) have ever given me, while you have lent my siblings fractions of the money you’ve lent me and they have failed to pay you back a dime.

I’m tired mom. I’m really fucking tired of it all. Perhaps you’re crazy. Perhaps you’re just a fucking alcoholic as you were when I was a kid - letting child molesters sleep on our couch, failing to acknowledge the harm they were doing your daughters, or any harm at all for that matter... Perhaps, you’re just a useless fucking bitch who can’t sort out her own shit, who shouldn’t have had children in the first place; because even as I grew I knew I was just as fucked as you must have been at my age, and I, like all your other children look forward to a future as dreadfully bright as yours; no matter what I do, eventually confining myself to literally living in garbage, animal faeces, rotting food, refusing to leave despite the million dollar fucking house waiting for you, and hating the world, as life proves all your other children are and do too.

Whatever the case, I pray for one thing... It’s that I never become the animal you seem to be these days and that I never hate my child the way you seem to hate yours.

I love you mom. And it's the truth. But it's real fucking hard to love you through all the hate you throw at me.

0 words of wisdom:


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No matter where I am, I'm lost and learning to like it. I'm a living contradiction, and the best lies I tell are the ones I tell myself.
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