Letter 2: To my Mother

I want to hate you, but I can’t. Despite the fact that you neglected me quite often growing up, I still love you. But I rarely ever felt like you loved me. You always acted like you wanted me to succeed, but never encouraged me to do the things I loved. You knew I loved art and writing, but whenever I was proud of something, you would always do your best to discourage me. You and dad always tried to push me towards the things you thought were “realistic” because they would pay more. But I never cared how much money I made as long as I was happy. But I was never happy. I was miserable because no matter how many times I struggled in life, no matter how many times I needed help, you never seemed to care. My brother was always the one you found time for. Sure, you took me to dozens of therapists when I was younger after I tried running away or after suicide attempts, all because you thought there was something wrong with me. But the therapists were the ones to listen to me, not you. You were always good at pawning me off onto someone else whenever you didn’t want to deal with me. No, you never wanted to listen to my problems. You never listened when I asked for help. You didn’t even believe me when I told you about dad abusing me. You always defended him, you took his word over mine, you always said I was lying or just being overdramatic. You even joined in whenever he called me stupid and worthless. You know, in the wild, mother animals are very protective of their offspring, often putting their lives at risk to protect their young. I never felt protected growing up. You never defended me when I was being beaten. I always felt alone. Both you and dad spent all of your time with my brother, giving him all the attention and support he wanted. I got none of that and felt very isolated. Over the years you actually became more like dad, worrying more about your image and how you looked in the community than trying to help me when I needed it. Sure, you sent me money here and there when I was struggling, but I had to practically beg for it, and you always found some way of making me feel ashamed for taking it. You always told me I needed to figure out everything on my own, but even after you found out I had autism and needed some help, you didn’t change. You thrust me out the door when I was 18 without any of the tools I needed to succeed. You could have taught me something beneficial growing up. You could have given me some guidance. But you gave all that to my brother, while I became the outcast. You even went so far as to disown me when my wife and I split up. Guess you loved her more than me. You lost a son but gained a daughter. But none of that even matters anymore. I’ll be gone before long.