letters to T–my mother

We have been spending what feels like copious amounts of time in therapy talking about my parents. I’m not sure if it will ever feel better. Sometimes, especially when I talk about my mother, I feel quite awful afterwards. T says it’s all okay to feel the way that I feel but even that doesn’t seem to make a difference. Over the weekend things felt particularly rough so I ended up sending some emails to T to try to get rid of the angst I’ve been feeling. I’m not sure if it’s helping but as T says, ‘at least you aren’t alone with all of it anymore‘…


I woke up this morning after another restless night feeling quite defeated. Part of me was angry at myself for feeling so disappointed in my mother. I know she wasn’t there and should have done so much more than she did all those years ago but she’s here now. Not always in a good way, but at least physically she’s here. And I wonder why I can’t take comfort in that at all. I don’t know why it still feels like I need so much more than what I have. I try to hold onto those snippets of times when things don’t feel quite so unsettling however limited they might be but it just isn’t enough. Sometimes, it feels like I need her to be close to me like I need oxygen to breathe.

Another part of me feels so done with everything. Why do I continue to hide from her all the things that I think and feel? I honestly don’t think I could feel any less wanted so why don’t I just say what’s on my mind.


Why is it so hard? Why do the wounds caused by our parents continue to fester all these years later? I just want to reach the point where it doesn’t matter anymore. Where I can feel safe and secure in my own world without feeling like I need to matter to her.

A part of me wishes she wasn’t even here anymore. I’m sure that makes me an awful person but it’s how it feels. I sometimes imagine that I could be my real self if she was gone instead of having to tow the line and pretend I’m something or someone that I’m not, like now. I tell myself all the time that life is going to get so much easier once I am without these people in my life. And I don’t know if that’s true or not but I imagine the silence and no longer having to keep secrets or no longer pretending.

I woke up feeling like I am a huge inconvenience to everyone in my life. It’s always felt that way I think. I don’t feel like I add anything to this world and because of that, I still think about dying a lot of the time. It doesn’t carry the urgency that it did a year ago, but it still lingers in the background nagging at me on a daily basis and I do feel the world would be better off without me most of the time.

I sit here staring at my mother and I feel so misunderstood and disappointed by the one person in the world who was supposed to take care of me. She had one job. One. And she couldn’t do it. I feel like I don’t really know her at all as a person. I don’t think I ever will. And at the same time it feels like it shouldn’t matter anymore because I am no longer that small child who screamed in the darkness and nobody came.

Maybe I got it all wrong…

There are so many layers to this and I just need some quiet. Reprieve from the madness of it all. I never in my life thought that life could get any harder than it was.

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