Mrs. Devine,
It hurts me to say that I hate you but I do. I feel a tremendous amount of guilt because I feel I haven't tried hard enough to understand you or give you credit for what you have done for me as a parent. I feel I've failed because I had a relationship built on control, anger, guilt, abuse, and regret until I decided I couldn't be your punching bag anymore and ended it. I feel I'm the most miserably heartless bitch of a daughter because I can only refer to you formally as Mrs. Devine because I grow ill from any reference to you as my mother. I hate you. I truly hate you.
I hate you more than I hate myself which in the years of my existence has been the darkest thing to cross my mind. I've cut myself because of my hate for myself. I've inflicted all sorts of physical pain to my body because of my hate for myself. I've withdrawn from people who I love. I've insulted myself nearly every moment of my life. I've prayed for death and almost succeeded. All because of a hate for who I am that resides in my soul. And now I realize that I hate you more.
I've spent years trying to figure out what I had done to have you despise me so much. And I think it goes back to being the daughter of a man who didn't want you, who couldn't commit to you. I was blessed with the unfortunate luck of having his markings run through my veins. Perhaps you hate me because of him? All the times you chose to remind me that he was miserable. That he hurt you. That you hated him...How I was just like him. I remember being so young and being called inside from a gorgeous day of play. I remember standing at the bedroom door while you were making the bed. I remember you screaming at the top of your lungs how worthless I was. And I remember how bad I felt that I had failed you.
It shouldn't matter that I'm another man's daughter. So, you've said. While reminding me that I was his, you would remind me that I had a new dad. A man that did love you and when he married you, he wanted to be my dad. A man to replace the piece of shit that had helped you create me. The two conflicting thoughts.
Whose child was I? The biological father or the man who adopted me as his own? As a child I didn't know and shouldn't have had to try and figure it out. I was supposed to be loved by you and my 'papa.' But I wasn't. I was reminded constantly that I was an outsider in a family that was mine.
You both doted on my siblings. Slept with them while I was put in a dark room alone with the door shut and told I would be spanked if I cried. You blamed me for my siblings' errors and tears. You pushed me aside while you pulled my sister and brother into your laps. You beat me. You called me names. You held me responsible for all the family's ails from not being a good babysitter at eight years old to a divorce that ended a marriage of 18 years. And you wonder why I'm so sensitive to what you and others say to me, Mrs. Devine. Oddly enough, you yell at me for not being more sensitive to others' feelings.
I hate you for reminding me constantly that I am nothing without you. That I will fail without your help. I fight back trying to defend myself. I try to explain that I can stand on my own two feet. And you mock me. I do all that I can to keep from asking you. But life has been hard and despite trying to do it alone, I can't. So, I return to you for help. I have to grovel and apologize and beg. And you give but only after you laugh at me. Only after you yell at me. Only after you've questioned every moment of what I've done in my life. And then you say you love me. Of course you'll help. That's what mothers are for. You tell me I don't need friends, I have you.
I've learned to rely on noone as a result. Even if my cupboards are bare. Even if my child's clothes are tattered. Even if I'm in need of medical attention. I've learned to rely on noone but me. If I do get help, I'm ashamed and guilty for not doing it myself. I worry they'll mock me. Think less of me. Or they'll give me and then expect me to grovel for them. I fear people's helping hands because of you. I don't believe their encouraging words because of you. I have unending loneliness because they all remind me of you.
To feel better about myself, I stay away from you. When I do, you find a way to get into my life. A phonecall or decoy to see what I'm doing. I try not to fall for it, and I succeed many times. But then I start feeling guilty for being uncompromising and unforgiving. I cave. And you laugh. You tell me that you are always having to apologize first. That I'm selfish and mean. That I treat you horribly. And I believe you. Part of me wants to fight for myself but I hush that whisper.
You tell your friends and perfect strangers how miserable I am so that when I walk into any store and see a Filipino, I worry about the repercussions. They come after me long after you've given me my lecture. They chase me down and tell me that I should be nicer to you. That I should understand you. That I should be a better daughter. In a store. At the post office. In the lobby of a medical building. Your minions lashing out at me for being spiteful to you and reminding me that you are my savior. You think I exaggerate? How embarrassing to walk into your place of business and have you introduce me to your customers "This is Naomi, my oldest. She's homeless." Or "yeah, she's unemployed. I'm such a good mother because I'm taking care of her and my granddaughter." Or after the time you were arrested for domestic violence against me and I'm told that your friends say, "maybe I should you beat you up like your daughter did so you can buy me a house."
I hate you.
I hate that my relationships with my sister and brother are tainted because of you. They sympathize with me but little do they know that in their voices and in some of the things they say are hidden messages that I should change. That I should try to understand you. That I should be the one that bends. "You know Mom. She's not going to change. You know she doesn't know what she's saying." Like a child, you run as quickly as you can to tell them and my father what I've done to hurt you when we argue. You call them to rally them on your side.
What's worse than the outright display of hate are the calm moments between us. My reserve slowly melts away when you bring me closer to you. At first I'm skeptical. I know it won't last. I go back into calm with reservation. But then I let down my defenses. I could have months of you talking to me about life. About how you were sorry for things. You would show concern with my life and my mental health. And as quickly as an eye blink, you raise your voice and start telling me to stay out of your life. You use everything that you got from the calm moments against me. "Maybe you just need to go in the hospital....Naomi, you just need to get over it....Jennifer and Shawn never complains about things....You're the only one with problems." And I'm left there stunned and hurt and angry thinking how could I have been so stupid.
There is so much rage in my body because of you. I don't know where to go with it. I want to hit everyone. I want to slam my car into a tree. I want to scream until my voice is gone. I want you to feel all the hurt I've bottled within me. I want you to suffer excruciating loneliness, paranoid paralysis, life threatening depression. I want you to pay for what you created.
But it's not right to have this much anger for a person. To wish them ill. So I go along with my life taking it out on myself. The unflattering mold created by others that I fit myself into every day. The one that is a failure and a fuck up. The one that pinches and bites places that don't quite fit but I force into anyways. And I hate myself as a result. And I hate myself because I'm trying to escape it. And I hate myself for being angry at the people who created it. And I'm the only one suffering.
You have taken so much away from me that you don't even know. You took them away from me when I was a child and had no control. And now as an adult, I'm trying to replace them and have no idea where to begin. I'm standing in the center of a circular wall that encloses me. I have my eyes sealed and am holding my breath hoping noone will notice me because they'll hurt me. I fear moving any direction. I refuse to tear down my wall. I'm frozen inside a cell of hate and despair and loneliness where I truly don't want to be. I know it's not healthy but don't know what to do. No, I do but I don't have the courage to trust anyone for support; and I lack the belief that I can even do it.
You are not the only one who helped me build this fucking wall but I hate you the most. And I hate that I'm holed up inside while you are dancing outside it laughing at me and living your life. I hate that everyone sees you as the victim of fucked up Naomi. I hate that despite you nearly killing me, beating me until I was twenty one years old, and the public displays of hate; you are the angel and I'm wrong for not understanding you or forgiving you or changing my ways.
I've spent years in therapy and on medications to fit into your life. To better understand you and save you from the demon that is me. I've put aside goals to make you happy. I've kept my mouth shut and hung my head down throughout hours of demeaning lectures. I've been homeless. I've been hospitalized. I've endured every possible person I know save the opinion of a few telling me that it's just who you are like that forgives all you've done.
When does that stop being an excuse? When do you get held accountable for what the fuck you've done? When does everyone stop and say, "Mrs. Devine, that's just who Naomi is. And she doesn't deserve a shit assed mother like you." When do you realize that you are fucked up? Who besides me has the balls to tell you? I fear no one and no time will come. And I'm so angry.
So..I'm trying to live my life without you. I am trying to believe that I am justified in being alive. I am trying to not give in to desparate thoughts and unkind words. And it's hard. And at times I think I'm succeeding but mostly I feel I'm still failing.
You are now Mrs. Devine. Your parental rights have been forever revoked. You will not share in the joys or sorrows of Emma's or my life. I will not invite you to any celebration such as marriage or graduation within MY family. I will not pray for you. I will not forgive you. I will not grieve for you when you are dead.
I hate you with all the venom and anger and evil in my heart. I hate you. And when my heart is weighed after my death, I will take the responbility for its heaviness. I will take my punishment for all the hate in my heart for you.
Emmaline has eczema and the dryness is causing her so much pain. Her lips and the skin surrounding them are so dry that they are cracking and scabbing over. Her cheeks are riddled with hive-like patches of skin that makes her look like she's been eating more than her fair share of an allergen laden food. Her poor little face is wrinkly instead of supple and cherubic. And the rest of her 8 year old body is more like an 80 year old Sharpei than her own.
