letter to a mother from a ___
from a what? kid, fag, son, take your pick, i’m easy.
i wonder when the last time you were happy was? i wonder when you were last truly satisfied. do you ever look at your life, at your home and husband and children and spaces where the dogs used to be and feel okay? would you do it again if you could?
i’m sorry. i think you, especially you, deserve to be fucking happy. i just wish i knew how.
i’ve tried for so long to escape being like you. at the very least, make a lesson of the mistakes that i’ve always felt you ran into, even if you don’t call then that. i think that at some point in my life, i overcorrected, tried to disown myself from any kind of relation to you.
but i don’t think i can truly deny the relation. from your children, i think my brother got how you look, and i got how you think. the way your brain seems to run in circles sometimes, coiling in on itself. the way you seem to only be able to tiptoe around your love. god, i wish you would say that you loved me. your disorders. god, so many of your disorders. meek, neurotic little thing. as much as i know that i’ll get past them one day i don’t think i’ll ever get over them.
i think you see it, too. there was always a certain way that we got along that i never saw in anyone else. in a way, it felt a little like the kind of kinship i’ve spent my life chasing. i wish i knew how to make that connection stronger, i wish i could give you the same feeling. i wish i could bring myself to make that connection stronger.
i’m slowly learning that after everything, you’re still my mother.
i wish that you could learn that i’m still your daughter