pieces of me

dear mother

You think you know me but you don't. If you did you would've seen the pain I was going through. You should've been there to comfort and help me. You were supposed to fight for me when no one else did.
Yet you left out for the wolves to have their way with me.

I used to ask myself what I had done to deserve this. What sin I had committed for God to punish me like this. My knees had become ashen at the amount of times I used to pray each day, I felt as if God had closed his ears to my prayer and turned his back against me.

Why didn't you do anything when o told you. In fact you made me chose what we should do, how was I supposed to make that big a choice. I was only 12 ! I didn't know what was going on: let alone what to do. To this day I hold that against you. What kind of a mother let's the man who molested their own flesh and blood still live with them and doesn't divorce them or call the cops on them? Did you even care about me?

Self harming, bulimia, anorexia, depression and anxiety; the viscous cycle that I fell into over the years. Can I tell you a secret? I started drinking. A lot, just to numb the pain of everything: to block out the voices, the flashbacks and nightmares. The more I drank the less they would hit me, the less i would feel....

I always feel like I never can do enough like whatever I do is always wrong in your eyes. Lord knows I would kill to reach let alone meet your expectations. Why can't I do anything right in your eyes? For once why can't you be like other parents and love me instead of making me feel like I'm better off dead?

I practically raised myself! Most of the time if you weren't fighting with him you were turning me into an emotional punching bag, you never found time to be a mother to me, hell I never had a father in him: most of the time I was competing with him like we were siblings. I had to support myself through things that I wasn't supposed to be alone with.

Where were you when he started touching me? Where were you when his hands snaked up my thighs, when he came into my room all those nights? When I started starving myself because you and the family called me fat? When I forced myself to vomit because of all those taunts from you.

When I started cutting you called the scars ugly and told me to hide them refusing to acknowledge your hand in this whole situation and shaming me, making me feel as if I had been the reason why I was here. But you know through all of this my heart is still hoping praying that you will change but my mind knows you never will.

Dear mother, I'm sorry that you'll never change and I'm sorry that you're the reason why I will end up dead. But till thay day I know you'll think it's all in my head.