I hate you.
I. Hate. You.
There, now that I got that out of the way, I think I might be able to move on productively in this letter. Probably not, but I'll try.
There are people who are not meant to be parents. You two, I believe would fall at the top of that list. Scratch that, you never hit us, left us on the side of the road or forced us to wear matching clothing, but you did abuse us.
We were never abandoned in the sense that we were left to fight for our own housing or food, but emotionally? You were never there.
Let me repeat that. You were NEVER there.
Dad. And I use that name loosely, (you know why) you left us. When I was 12. Many, many kids grew up in a setting of divorce. Considering at least 50 percent of all marriages end in divorce, it's no surprise that you guys didn't make it. And what, with your stellar track records! Count with me now, dad's on his fourth divorce? Or is it fifth? I can't keep up with these things. And mom! Gosh, husband number 7. Hope this one works because, you know, Arkansas only lets you marry 7 times. Better make it count!
But you know what? People make mistakes, so I can't really hold that against you.
But, back to the divorce. Seeing that you two are old hat at this, you think a divorce would go smoothly? Right?
Battles over child support.
Refusal to pay. Our house almost went into foreclosure and my mother forced me at the tender age of 12 to call my father's mother and request that she implore him to pay to help us.
Instead, my grandmother yelled and hung up on me and I didn't speak to her again until I was 24 and she was dying. For the record, I did not forgive her, even though I told her I did.
But, really, that wasn't that big of a deal. That scar is overshadowed by the scar of being forced to sleep between my parents because my mom heard my father drunkenly claim he was going to shoot her in the head while she slept. Let's pause and let that sink in.
Dad-threatening to kill mom.
Mom-thinks 12 year old daughter will stop it.
Me-stuck in the middle. Always.
OK, moving on.
Really, I'm not even that messed up about my childhood. OK, fine, I'm about 99.9% sure all of that is the reason I burst into tears when someone looks at me sideways.
Mom, after dad left, I know you tried to 'make something of yourself' but really, all you did is dump your other two kids on me. And it's been this way ever since. I tried, as a thirteen year old girl to balance my school work, having a life (don't worry, I didn't because I was a dork) and helping my sisters.
After he left, really, you did too. You went to college. And while I applaud that effort, you left us.
You were gone in the morning. You came home late at night. And eventually, not at all.
You put you first, under the guise that it was 'all for us.' But looking back, it was really all for you.
It always was. We were merely pawns in your life. The "things" you wanted because you thought we'd bring you joy. And when we didn't? We were cast aside. Unimportant to you.
I've always felt unimportant to both of you. Actually, all three of you. (And you know what that means.)
I'm tired of picking up the pieces of your life. I'm tired of carrying responsibilities that I didn't give birth to.
I'm tired of running into walls at every corner because you're too lazy to give a fuck.
I'm just tired.
What I want, is to move on. To not feel guilty because I don't have a close relationship with any of my parents-because that is something you did. I don't want to stare stonily at a TV unable to relate to a scene where a parent tucks a child into bed. Or one where a mother lovingly cuddles her child.
What I want is to punch you in the face. Hard.
I wish that I had different parents. I wish that you guys had cared, maybe even just a little bit. I wish that I would stop trying so hard to impress you when all I get in return is jealousy. I wish that parents had to take a test before children were given to them- Lord knows, you would have failed miserably. I wish that I could shake all these thoughts and frustrations and insecurities that I've carried around like fifty pound weights around my neck since childhood. I wish that I weren't so broken.
And I just wish that you guys knew what you did to me. To us.