Dancing in my dress. Spinning in circles. Laughing. I was 7.
On the field in the rain. Scoring a goal. Getting sick. I was 8.
At school. Cheating on a test. Got caught. I was 9.
Dads new girl. 3 kids. Not ready for that. I was 10
Bleeding. Sick. Got sent home. I was 11.
First race. Nervous. Second place. I was 12.
Awarded for math and other things. No one was there. Dads girl fucked up. I was 13.
Lost my virginity. He left. First concussion. I was 14.
He came back. Second year of soccer. Last race. I was 15
He fucked up. Joined cheer. First Prom. I was 16.
Last soccer game. First job. Second Prom. I was 17.
Second job. ISS twice. Lost my way. Graduated. I was 18.
Drugs. Alcohol. Party. I was 19.
School. Your mom. Gained control. Now 20.
You always told me you never could have stayed due to my family mistreating you. So you left. To Canada. Are you fucking kidding me. You could have stayed. Two children should have made you stay. For them. Now you have a family. You are not a mother. Not in my book. Yes, you gave birth to me, but your mom has been more of a mom than you ever have been. You left your two daughters. You left us.
I do forgive you, but you are not my mother. You are just a long distant friend. The mother I had left when I was six. She left my sister with no parent of her own. She has done wonderfully without you. Thanks to your father and the person you hated your whole life. My sister did incredible, raised perfectly. Me, I did okay. Let me know if you know how it feels how to ask your dad for tampon advice or about boys or sex. Doubtful. Dad did the best he could, but I raised myself mostly.
I’ve been molested twice. I have had to work two jobs through high school just so my lights wouldn’t be cut out, every month. Or the water. I am exhausted of hearing, you are sick, that you couldn’t help it. I call bullshit. We were your daughters. We were your everything. I love you and my brother, but I don’t know you. I don’t know anything about you. I had to grow up and learn how to do my make-up by myself. How to put my hair up in a ponytail. You aren’t my mother. You are a mother to Johnathan, but not me.
All those things I listed. You missed out on. Good and bad. You fucked up. Not me. Not dad. Not super nanny. Not granddaddy. Not magic nanny. You did. Take responsibility. You will never get those times back. You will never get to see me grow up from when I was little till I am an adult. Oh and please. Don’t show up for either of my college graduations. You didn’t help along the way. You just made things worse.
You are an adulterous whore. Twice. You are not a mother. You are awful. You are cruel. You put me and my sister through hell and back. The way you treated her when I was born. Fucked up. That’s okay, you helped that situation by giving me more of a shitty life than her. I am glad she was raised the way she was. She cannot stand talking to you, she just does it for nanny. I guess in other words, thanks for not being there. Can’t really miss what’s never been there right? So thanks, I’m stronger than anyone could imagine.
From,
Your second child.
Invisible Thought 