I'm Glad My Mom Died

If Mom really didn’t want what was best for me, or do what was best for me, or know what was best for me, that means my entire life, my entire point of view, and my entire identity have been built on a false foundation.

Oh. So we started going to church when we wanted something from God?” I asked.

“No.” Even though Mom was laughing when she said it, she sounded kind of nervous, maybe even a little annoyed.

“So what do you say? You want to act? You want to be Mommy’s little actress?”
There’s only one right answer.

The fragility of Mom’s life is the center of mine.

realizing for the first time how exhausting it is to constantly curate my natural tendencies, responses, thoughts, and actions into whatever version Mom would like most.

EATING YOUR GUILT.
Thinking of you with his ding dong inside of you makes me sick. SICK. I raised you better than this. What happened to my good little girl? Where did she go? And who is this MONSTER that has replaced her? You’re an UGLY MONSTER now. I told your brothers about you and they all said they disown you just like I do. We want nothing to do with you.
Love,
Mom (or should I say DEB since I am no longer your mother)
P.S. Send money for a new fridge. Ours broke.

Dear Net,
I am so disappointed in you. You used to be my perfect little angel, but now you are nothing more than a little SLUT, a FLOOZY, ALL USED UP. And to think—you wasted it on that hideous OGRE of a man. I saw the pictures on a website called TMZ—I saw you in Hawaii with him. I saw you rubbing his disgusting hairy stomach. I KNEW you were lying about Colton. Add that to the list of things you are—LIAR, CONNIVING, EVIL. You look pudgier, too. It’s clear you’re

I’m thirty-two years old.”
I feel stupid for suggesting the idea, and embarrassed for not being sexually advanced enough to meet Joe’s needs. Even though I’m eighteen, I feel like a child.
“You’re too young for me. This is never gonna work.”

You’re LYING to me, you LIAR,” Mom says, spitting as her face contorts. “I’m gonna find out what’s going on. Mark my words, you FILTHY LITTLE LYING WHORE.”

co-worker Joe, the one seated directly behind me, keeps touching me. At first I couldn’t tell if it was an accident since I know he’s in his thirties and has a girlfriend, but now it’s happened so many times