In the course of trying to Guilt and shame overwhelmed me during the course of that endeavor. I insulted girls who had hurt me, making the bill even. I told my false friends that I despised them. I got into trouble for it. It was freeing., I figured I would , telling them what I really thought of them.
And yet I could not stop. The satisfaction was temporary. And that made one thing obvious to me: It was not those girls I really had a beef with. It was the one woman I saw in all those girls, the one woman I was fighting through the proxy of other girls. The one woman to whom I was really pretending. The one woman whom I really feared to know me.
I showed my true self to all the women who had hurt me. But I realized that there is only one woman who has to know me. Realized that all the other women do not matter. Realized that there is one woman to whom I never dared to show my true self. Never dared to speak up to earnestly. That woman is my mother.
The thought of writing all these important andthings filled me with shame and guilt and fear. It took me three weeks to finally sit down and write this letter. Now, the letter is on its way. Now, my mother must know me, whether she wants to or not.
Now that my mother will know who I am, there is no one I must ever feel ashamed of myself towards again. The next time somebody accuses me of being an asshole, pathetic, not nice or impolite, my mother will not be watching over my shoulder.
I will say: Yes, that is me. And shrug.
The voices in my head always and mercilessly competed, because I had not yet spoken up to the one big source of voices in my head. Had assignedto it. To her. My failure to speak my mind robbed me of . Now I have spoken my mind.
Next time, the mother in my mind will have been put in her place, her looming expectations of me finally fought off with the courage to put myself first, no matter how miserable that self.
Maybe this is too optimistic. Who knows. But I know one thing: I hope to never see her again.
Most people’s published letters to their mothers reek of gratitude and love. Mine reeks of contempt and hatred.
Hello [first name of my mother],
You disgust me. You write that you love me. You write that you would do anything for me. So why can not you grant one simple request? Leave me alone.
You did not respect my private sphere when I lived at home. You slept in my bed without pants. You threw my skull out of the window because you went mad.. When we were , you were on their side.
When we had a debate, you played the victim and I was the bad one. You gave me away to the state. Because you could not manage me. And somehow it was my fault. No, it was not, you damn cow. You failed. Not me. I was only a child. What do you think, that I was born bad, born simply to torment you, or what? I needed a healthy mom and dad, needed someone who understands, who will teach me to live, teach me to have my own life.
But nobody was there. I was alone. But even that you could not let me have. I still had to take care of you, be nice, put up a pretense. You love me? Shit, you do not even know me! Everything that you know about me is an illusion.
When I failed with a girl, you as a woman knew that women like an independent and arrogant man. After all, that is exactly how you chose yours. Instead of being honest to me and letting me be a man, you pitied me. Because I was useless to you as a man, you needed me as a slave who will be nice to you and take care of you.
When I wanted to, you never supported me. You kept offering me things, even though I said I did not want them.
When I was sad and wanted you to take me into your arms, instead, you moved weirdly so that I took you into mine. When I needed you, you had nothing to give, instead you just took. As long as I can think back.
I was a baby. I needed you to be there for me, not the other way around. What do you think a baby can do to help you with your problems? Shit, I was just a kid. I did not understand. I did not understand the tragedy of your life and it was none of my business.
And then the shit with your suicide. And giving me the blame for it. And not even admitting it. You and grandma, you are in it together. Both of you should be ashamed.
And then you came into my flat. MY flat. And you told me how to live my life. And you were sitting there like a stone statue and staring at me as if I did not exist or was the devil. Shame on you for that.
You have no right. No right to expect anything from me. I do not owe you anything at all, not even a little. This is my life. And you wanted it for yourself. I do not belong to you, you ugly fat bitch.
No one will ever love me like you do? I do not feel loved. Not at all. Not even a little. I do not feel any love from you, just guilt. Guilt and gifts did not pretend that you love me. That is okay.. Perhaps I would be more glad if you were honest and
You do not love me, you just need me.
You do not love me. You can not. Because you do not know me.
I have fantasies of murder and rape. I look at porn. I would like to shit in a girl’s mouth. I hate women because I hate you. You revulse me and I am terribly afraid of you, probably from a time when you were stronger than me.
I hate you so much that if I saw you again, I guess I would crush your skull, so much you revulse me. That is how much I am terrified of you. That much I hate you.
Now that you know, do you still love me? Or did you just love some kind of ideal, a nice son who does not exist? You love the person that I am?. A life without you.
I was born by you and I am somewhat thankful for it. That is the only reason I do not ring your bell and crush your face.
If I see you one more time in my life, expect it to happen. Expect me to jump at you like a madman and hurt you a lot. I would rather have you kill yourself for good, successfully this time. At least I would have some peace and the knowledge that I will certainly never see you again.
If you understand this, and if you really love me – if you even can – you must understand that you can not be a part of my life.
If you understand, I will allow you to write me back. But nothing about you. No apologies. I do not want to hear that bullshit anymore. I will allow you to write me ‘Okay. You never have to see me again. ‘ That, and nothing more. Nothing extra. Just a piece of paper in an envelope, sent with the post – do not dare to come here. Write it with a computer, and write the address on the envelope with a computer. I do not even want to see your handwriting. I do not want the letter to smell good. In short, I only want the information, nothing more.
If you write me that, maybe someday I will. Now I can not, no way. If you fulfill my wish, to have my peace from you – and granny – forever, then you give to me the one thing that I really desire.
, your advice, your money, nothing. If you dare to send me anything other than that piece of paper I allowed you, I will come to your house and I will smash your face. Do not write that you love me. Do not write that you are sorry. I do not give a fuck and will hurt you if you dare to talk to me about love or something like that.
And finally: I am sorry that I am not the nice son whom you wanted. Who will take care of you. I am sorry that I pretended. I really just wanted some love and acceptance. But not acceptance for posturing. I wanted to be loved for what I really was. But you never cared. You only wished for a nice son. Well, I am not, sorry. I failed your expectations. But I wanted to live nonetheless, so I somehow had to pretend. Pretend to like you.
And in that lies my fault. My fault is that I feigned. But I was just too much afraid of what you would have done it if I was myself. A man. If you would have sent me away again. Or called the cops. Or cried and accused me.
Well, now it is just a memory.
You are a terrible person. I would like to not know you. Until this day I am ashamed of being a man..
No, it is. I am mad at him, too, and I will write him, but that is none of your fucking business.
No, it is not exclusively my dad’s fault, because you are mad. I do not even know what is wrong with you. Maybe your dad raped or beat you or something like that. I do not even want to know, it is your problem.
I do not know who you are. I know two faces.. I do not know who you are. You are not a person for me. Only a robot who keeps giving me gifts or treats me like a piece of shit.
And frankly, I do not want to even know about you anymore. Once I cared, today I do not.
I read that people have similar experiences and feelings when their mother has a Borderline Personality Disorder. I read that something can be done about it.
As a person, I wish you to find a way to have a happy life without me. To beat your demons. Wish you to be able to forget me, live your own life, live out your own personality. To find a man, maybe. But mostly I wish you that you will be able to find contentness even without a man.
But I do not want to know about it. I do not want to ever see you or hear from you again. If you fix your life, I do not want to know about it. It is your life and none of my business.
You have no right to establish contact with the exception that I mentioned. The same applies for granny.
I do not know how I deserved such a family, such a life. But so what. Now I have said all I wanted to say. Now you finally know me. Finally I stop pretending.