Dear Mom


I am writing this here and not actually sending it to you because you don’t care enough to respond to anything I have sent you in the past 4 years, why bother.

I want you to know some things. I need you to understand that my entire life up until I left at 27 revolved around you and taking care of you. I was always scared of you and Don. There are plenty of reasons for that. He did things you never believed he did. So I stopped telling you. You. You taught me how to lie. I won’t take ownership for this one. I was a little girl, I think 3 or 4 when Don started bringing his daughters to the house. I was told to always lie and tell them that Don didn’t live here. That Don hardly ever came over because he was your boss. I started holding things in. It fucked me up. I started eating berries and shit outside at 5 years old to hopefully find a poison one so I could just not be here anymore. You told me therapy and depression weren’t real. I believed you. I trusted you. You failed. You failed me. But I tried to be the best I could to try and make you proud. When I realized I’d never be Annie and Jackie and that I was never going to be good enough in your eyes, I gave up.

All the things I did as a 20 something were meant for you to realize I was crying out for help. You let him hit me. You let him touch me. You saw the relationship I was building with Nathaniel and just let me ruin myself. When it was too late you had no clue I was forced to get an abortion. You still don’t know. You could have been a grandmother. But nope. In Don’s eyes I had to protect you so that meant getting rid of the first thing I ever wanted. I still suffer from all this. I did this for you. All of it. I picked you up and put you on the toilet. I helped clean you after you shit yourself. I put you in bed at night. I worried constantly that you weren’t going to be awake one morning. You have no idea though. You just hate me for not being the obediant daughter you wanted. Now you live 15 minutes from me and I haven’t seen you in almost five years. Because you don’t want to see me. I never want to talk to you again. I’m healing now. I am in therapy. I did what I needed to survive. I just wish you could have known this shit so maybe you can lose sleep, like I do. I’m not the person you knew anymore. I’m not sure who I am yet, but I’m better than that cowering child.

I google you to make sure you are still alive. I don’t think when you finally die that I’d go to your funeral. I’d be treated like the worst piece of shit. I just want to know when the day comes. I’ll mourn what could have been. I’ll mourn the few times that I truly love remembering. But I won’t mourn our present relationship. I did what I could to stay in your life. This isn’t my fault and I’m done beating myself up over it.

Your unwanted daughter,



I am sharing my story of why and how I developed BPD and what I am doing to rebuild myself.

2 thoughts on “Dear Mom

  1. I connect to this. The part about mourning a relationship that you never had….that hit home. Shared blood is never a reason to accept abusive behavior. I’m so sorry for your pain. I’m also so proud of you for acknowledging this pain and saying enough is enough. Very moving. ❤️


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