I never wanted to give up on you.
Even now I don’t believe I am giving up on you. The reason I am backing away from your grasp is to breathe. I need my own air, I don’t want to share yours anymore. It is toxic and doesn’t feel good on my lungs. It closes them down instead of opening them, the air is stale and painful to inhale. It’s too difficult to expand my chest in front of you with fresh air. You become intimidated and afraid.
I never wanted my mother to be afraid of my strength.
I never wanted to be stronger than you and take responsibility for my actions, while you email me like an upset child. Who is not getting their way.
I want to give up on you.
Because I’ve given you so many chances. I’ve lost count at how many times I have said the same things to you.
“Please stop” “Why are you doing this?”
Or the things I’ve DESPERATELY wished from you, that have never come.
“I wish she could say she’s proud of me and genuinely mean it” “I wish I wasn’t a threat to her” “I wish she could give me a hug” “I wish she could hold me” “Tell me everything is going to be okay” “Tell me that I am beautiful” “That I look pretty today” “That you are happy I am your daughter” “That you are happy for me” “Happy to see me succeed” “Tell me I am enough”
Mainly I wish you could be proud of me.
My life is moving on. And I don’t think I want to take you with me.
You always say to me, in times of your desperation, like a dog at my feet, “cutes, please don’t give up on me”. BUT WHAT CHOICE HAVE YOU GIVEN ME?
What do I have to look forward to in our relationship?
I almost died on your bedside. I was homebound near death for over a year. By your side. You watched me fade away. But decided not to help me. You were given the choice to be different. To try and love me as your daughter, unconditionally.
But I will not lose my life for yours.
I will live my own life. Away from you. Because like a plague, you consume all that is around you. Like a parasite that crawls into my bloodstream when I say I can’t be a part of this anymore. You fall to your knees and beg me, like a child, “don’t give up on me”.
The fact that you even ask this of me is sick. I am your daughter. I am a grown woman. In spite of the way you have treated me, I have grown a soul of self-compassion and self-respect. Where I don’t allow those who should love me, hurt me. Those who should lift me up, tear me down.
I can’t be a part of your charade any longer. You’ll have to continue performing this act on your own. With my brother by your side. You have each other but I am not involved any longer. Your acting is old, I’ve seen the same performance so many times that honestly, it’s not fucking entertaining any longer.
I am not the actress. That is you.
I am proud of myself. I am starting to say to myself what I’ve been waiting my whole life for you to say to me. That I am happy and so fucking proud of where I have come from. I am happy that I have colitis because it has given me an alternate path to yours. Because yours sucks. I see where it goes and it is MISERY.
I am proud of my accomplishments and my future. And the part of myself that feels guilt for that is because I know I am letting go of you and your misery. It’s like a sandbag that has held my chest down. It’s been so heavy at times that I didn’t feel safe to breathe. In your home. Because you take up all the oxygen.
When you plead for me to not give up on you, it feels like you’ve made your choice to give up on yourself.
I’m done.
And I don’t deserve to carry your pain any longer. It only holds me down. I’m giving your pain back to you, and you can carry it now.
I have to make space to carry my accomplishments and my pride. Because those deserve to take up SO much more space in my life ❤
Note to myself: “I love you and I am listening”.