Exquisite Mistakes | ✓

34 mom

mom (n.) • one's mother.

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mackenzie | ivy

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"Ivy."

". . . What?"

"We need to talk."

"Mom . . . I-fine."

"I just wanted to let you know that I do not want you coming home for Christmas. Your brother can, not you. I do not need a criminal in my home."

". . ."

"Is that clear?"

"You know . . . moms are supposed to care about their kids but you're the fucking spawn of satan. I never did anything to you yet you hurt me constantly over and over again."

"Ivy-"

"No! Shut the fuck up! I've always listened to people say shit about me and I never stand up for myself. But now I'm so fucking over it! You cut off all communication with me and you changed your number six times just so I won't have to talk to you if I need you. I've been depressed ever since I was nine years old. I wanted to kill myself at nine years old. Do you know what a nine fucking year old is supposed to do? Have fun. Play around with friends. Do things regular kids do. But I just sat in my room and stared at the wall. Or I would go in my fucking bathroom and I would contemplate if I should take my life or not."

". . ."

"I wanted to come to you but you always ignored me. You never bothered to check up on me. You never asked me how I was doing or how my day went. You only went to Lucas. I hate how I treated him when I was younger. I would ignore him when he was nice to me because I had jealousy coursing through my veins twenty-four seven. I hated how you always treated the both of us differently."

"Ivy-"

"No! Shut up! I'm not done. I've been silent for the past nineteen years of my life. I hate you so much. But I know I'm lying to myself because no matter what you do, I will always be there for you. I will always be by your side. I'm always going to be a phone call away if you need my help. But I hate myself for that. You put me through hell these past nineteen years. I shouldn't love you. . . but I do."

"Ivy-"

"I'm. Not. Fucking. Done. Mother. You always made fun of my appearance. You always made me change something about myself and I did it so I could make you happy. But nothing worked. You're fucking mean. So fucking mean. I'm talking to Lucas again and we hang out every once in a while and I regret ignoring him when we were younger because he's so fucking sweet and kind to me. He takes care of and treats me like a fucking princess."

". . ."

"I'm crying right now. But these tears are flowing from my eyes right now and down my face. They're tears filled with happiness because I finally let go of something that was weighing me down. Tears of pain because you've put me through hell for the past nineteen fucking years. Tears of sadness because no matter what I do. I will never make you proud of me."

". . ."

"What's really surprising is that you asked someone that barely knows me to graffiti murderer on my fucking door. That's low. Even for you. I remember you being proud of me at one point but that was because I got a boyfriend but after I lost him. You gave me shit for it. Instead of being there for me, you yelled at me and it was the first time you . . . hit me. But do you care? No. You don't care about me. I'm so fucking done with you. Never talk to me again . . . understand?"

". . ."

"I said understand?"

"I understand."

"Don't use that fucking soft tone on me. I know you're trying to make me feel bad but I don't fucking care anymore. I am sick and tired of you ruining my life."

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