Letter to Mary

Dear Mary,

I want to start this letter by first saying that I will no longer refer to you as my mother. Aside from giving me half your DNA and pushing me out of your womb, you’ve done nothing to earn that title.

From the day I was born, you neglected me. I had to find out as an adult that you would leave me in my crib as an infant for long periods of time unfed and unchanged. I still don’t understand how a mother could do this to her firstborn child.

At the age of two you drove me an hour away for the first time to the place where I would spend the better part of my childhood being ritually abused. Often, while this was happening, you would sit in the other room and crochet. I was a little kid and I wondered where you were and why you were just sitting there letting it happen. I found out later that you and my father were paid large sums of money for this through your financial records. While you own two houses, nice cars, and go on elaborate vacations, I’ve been homeless, gone days without food, and now support myself with SSDI because I’m unable to work.

After taking me to this place to be abused, you started locking me in a cage nightly. I slept in that cage often with little to eat or drink. I never was allowed to play with toys or other kids. I only left the house to go to church.

At the age of 5 you took me back to this place and started leaving me there. To this day I have no idea how I went to school at the same time because I don’t remember. I do remember you taking my little sister to this place when she was 2, and I have to carry the burden of this knowledge because she doesn’t remember.

At the age of nine, you started heavily medicating me so I wouldn’t speak up about the abuse. Once again, I have no idea how I was able to attend school in such a drugged state. I started regularly being admitted to psychiatric hospitals at the age of 9 on top of still undergoing ritual abuse. At home you started messing with my medication so much that I was having seizures. Now you were taking me to medical doctors too. I found out later by a psychiatrist that you qualify for the diagnosis of Munchausen by proxy.

In my adult life, you have been nothing but an emotionally abusive manipulative bitch. Every time I even brought up my dissociative identity disorder, you called me a liar, told me I was crazy, and told me I was a failure. If I ever once called you out on your behavior, you told me it wasn’t your fault because you’re autistic. I just want you to know Mary, that I was diagnosed as borderline autistic myself and not once have I ever use that as an excuse to not take responsibility for my behavior.

I have no intention of forgiving you so that I can heal the relationship or make peace with you. You don’t deserve relationship with me. You don’t deserve to know how I’m doing, what’s going on in my life, or to even know if I’m alive or dead. You don’t even deserve to hear the sound of my voice or read the words on this page. I only choose to forgive you so that I can release his anger and move on with my life without your name or the word mother ever crossing my mind.

Someday I know you will die, and I fantasize about standing up at your funeral and telling all your friends and family what a piece of shit you are, but I wont. Not because I’m afraid to, but because you’re not worth the time or the expense of a plane ticket. I do hope one day, that I will see your grave. I will sit down by your tombstone, pour a glass of wine, and toast the fact that I am no longer have to share planet with you.

Regards,

The person formerly known as your daughter