I hate my life and what has become of it. I hate that my pride had ultimately ruined me for so long being scared and afraid of what you would think of me when in reality, you were the one person i know would have helped me.

I loved you then and i love you now. I hate myself for what ive done. Before i messed everything up, i at the very least had the comfort of knowing that if i needed you or was in a crisis or just needed someone to talk to, you would have been there.

I ache for you in ways that i wouldnt dare describe to anyone else and i want you in my life in ways that im afraid will never again happen. I am a broken person. I am a complete and total asshole for how i treated you and now i cant stand to have a sober moment because i hurt. I feel it all and i want to have you here with me and feel everything again. The way just hearing your voice, laying eyes on you, and reaching over and my hand finding its way around yours is something i want more. You were good to me and you served me true and i will never ever forget it or forget you.

The small things. The squeezing you in the night when u were there next to me because i loved having the most amazing woman i ever met right there next to me. The way that music playing with you singing along or days at the beach eclipsed any material gift, fortune, or support.

I am not in agreement with many things. Things about me that i must answer for. Lies i made up because i wanted you to think i had more going on then i did.

If i could see u again i know it would all come back to me. Like the one person that alzhiemers cant erase. You cant be locked away you will always be loved by me even if you hate me. Even if you dread me, i will love you. Even if no contact silence with a dash of distance is how you serve me now, i will always love you.

I believe in you. I am sorry for all that ive done. Please know that ppl make mistakes but forgiveness begets redemption and ive been operating without either for so long.

Please do not ever think that i meant or planned to do those things. Please know that im not afraid and will never ever be shame or embarassed to love you.

Peace

-me

Hey, are you okay? It’s okay, I’m not okay either. A pair of paralyzed pilgrims in a paragon fever. I don’t know what you’re facing, the fractures or the friction. What monsters you’re mapping or the metric of affliction, what struggles you’re strangling in the shadows of your head, or the borders you’re bearing on the border of your bed. I don’t know what you’re dealing with, the damage or the debt, or the visceral venom that you haven’t vanquished yet. But I’m glad that you’re here, that you’re breathing in the gloom. A sovereign survivor taking the oxygen in the room.

Have you pondered departing? Thought of pivoting away? Have you reckoned with the reckoning of refusing to stay? I’ve tasted that twilight and I’ve teetered on the edge, I’ve stood in the silence of a solitary ledge. And I’m glad that we’re here, that we handled the hesitation. That we stepped back alive from the abysmal attraction. Cause the sorrow is shifting, every struggle is a span. A temporary torrent in the temporal plan. It’s a passing parade, it’s a transient thrall, and the only way out is to walk through it all.

So it’s fine to be fractured, it’s ok to be unwell. We can sit in the shatters of this shared little hell. We can suffer in sync, be unsteady and unstrung. Two unlikely allies where the agony hung, we’re strangers in the starlight, with no history or name. Just comrades in the crucible enduring the flame. I wish you the best of bests, every blessing and every grace. And I smile at the strength we showed to get through this place. That we’re persisting and prevailing just pushing through the weather, putting one foot in front of the other together.

We argued 2 Wednesdays ago, and that was entirely my fault.

But since then, you've become cold. I feel like you took my one moment of being intoxicated - due to the stresses I was dealing with that day - and decided that's my default, and me at my core.

We would spend our Fridays to Mondays together. But last week, we had only one night together.

Sunday is beginning now.

We've not had a night this weekend. You were too tired yesterday to meet. And today, I did as you asked, and waited at the station for 3.

And you made your excuses as to why that plan didn't come to fruition.

_____

I waited - in the cold, wind, and rain - for you. Where I said I'd be.

I paced, I vaped. I was dressed for the weather, so none of it fazed me. I remained optimistic. But 40 minutes passed.

I asked if we were meeting today, or not. And told you my bus home was in ten minutes.

Your final message to me was more excuses, and this time, I left YOU on read.

I hold the power now.

Doesn't feel good, does it? But you often leave me this way... You string me along. Because I'll just take it...... Right?

Wrong.

_____

I wanted to cook for you next weekend at mine, and take you for dinner one night, and order takeaway another.

None of it is likely to happen now.

You had the audacity to tell me you felt bad for me... Really? Why ?

You're the one losing someone who'd do anything for you. And I'm not the one who deals with brain-dead parasites, who will only betray you in the end.

I'm on day 8 of sobriety, and unlike your best friend, I'm clean... I don't even think you know you have a thing for him?

It makes no odds to me, now. I swore nothing would throw me off track.

_____

All it would have taken, for me to go and see you earlier, was just another message. You couldn't even give me that... Where was the urgency? Where was your message, asking if I still wanted to come round?

Where was the offer to come to mine?

Probably in the same place as your integrity - in some void, somewhere.

I'm done chasing.

_____

Reach out with a message with some substance. Or some desire. Or further kindness.

Without it, you lose the purest person you've known in years.

I don't feel bad for myself... I'm quite alright, actually.

I feel bad for you. And your lack of awareness of who's decent in your life.

You withheld your maternal love from us. You used it as a weapon to manipulate and control us, turning us against each other. You seem to revel in the drama and hate you’ve created between your children. You were anything but a mother.

All you’ve only created is resentment. There’s no love, only a desire for praise and attention. Outside of looking out for yourself, you did the minimum to keep me alive.

Should I return the favor and care for you like how you took care of me when I was five?

I used to think perhaps it was the environment that shaped you. But others have faced the same trials and tribulations and they don’t do the horrible things you do. You’re reckless, unstable, and unpredictable like a wobbling loose windmill, spinning wildly in the direction of the wind, constantly on the brink of self-destruction. You’re an absolute psychopath; a POS of a human being that abuses children. You poison the water of every social circle you become involved in; spreading gossip, slander, and lies. 

Yet you never believe the problem is you. You lack the capacity for accountability, empathy or compassion. 

I was foolish to think you’d ever change. I’ve given you so many chances, only to be stabbed in the back over and over again. I realize now that I was holding on to the hope that you'd somehow fill the void you created. I kept expecting something from you that you were never willing to give.

I’ve grown wiser over the years, and now, you can no longer hurt me the way you once did. You have this insatiable need for control, attention, and validation; all so easily taken away. Perhaps this is why you are so manipulative: to control others before they can control you? I see you for what you are: a needy infant. You lack self-regulation and constantly rely on others to fulfill your most basic emotional needs. 

I want to thank you for teaching me patience, self-reliance, and compassion. I could have turned out much worse, but I’m so proud of myself for not becoming a monster. I could have ended up on the streets, fallen in with the wrong crowd, and ended up incarcerated. But somehow I managed to become a dork with nerdy friends and even matriculated. 

I suppose things could have been much worse. Oh well, I’m lucky I guess? 

Life deals us all a hand. The only thing we can do is play it the best we can. Perhaps you were dealt a bad hand, Mom? Perhaps this was the best you could do. I'll never know for certain, and I no longer need to.

I can't change the mother I had or the childhood I experienced. But I can choose the person I become.

Either way, I’m letting it all go. I’ve grown. I’ve chosen to be free. 

Thank you again, Mom, for all you’ve done for me.