Life isn’t perfect and this is part of the example of that statement. Those who read this, be grateful of what you got. Especially if you have a mother. It’s too many people already taking oxygen for granted, don’t take people who take care of you and love you for granted. When you read this, it may give you an understanding about life, it may disturb you and you may ask why I put this out for all to see. I want people to see what other life on this planted have to deal with. It’s not me, it’s not just people on Steve Wilkos or in magazines. This is real, this is life.
I often found calling you ‘mom’ to be quite offensive to real mothers. Even as a child I simply wanted to call you by your first name. Now I see ‘mom’ as being a nickname for you more than a title; a right. Motherhood is considered in society to be a sacred institute and isn’t supposed to be spoken about in a negative light. Typing these words however is so liberating.
I’ve taken countless actions to undo the negativity you put in me I will forever have to battle it. I have emptiness where my mother should have been. One I thankfully didn’t fill with drugs and alcohol. It’s a void nonetheless. It’s an essential part of me that I’m missing and as an adult have tried to piece it together through the positive people in my life. That’s really hard to do when I’m with my friends. They talk about how good their mom is and how good of a relationship they have with their mothers. I officially dread Mother’s Day because of you. Oh and let’s not get me started about Father’s Day…
The safe part about writing this letter is that I can finally say all that I feel about you. You can’t argue with me. You can’t blame me for your shortcomings and failures. You can’t scare me. You can’t hurt me. I don’t have to watch you drink yourself into a stupor either.
I simply don’t understand you. You say you love me and your other kids but you don’t show an ounce of this love that you speak of [well I can’t speak for your other children. As far as I’m concerned ‘love’ doesn’t visit anymore]. Please don’t tell me you love me anymore, I know it’s a lie. If it isn’t a lie then the definition for love must have changed over the past 24 years.
You know what pisses me off so much about you? You got so mad at your mom for taking care of your kids. Saying she turned us against you when it was you who turned us against you. Although there was a court order saying you were not allowed to even be near us, my grandmother risked it on many occasions and allowed you to be near us. We weren’t even in your custody and you still didn’t give a rat’s ass about us. Your obligations to be a mom was now left to your mom and you weren’t appreciative of that. Instead, you gave her grief every chance you got. I hated when you moved in, I didn’t even want to be in your presence.
All the birthday’s, all the holiday’s granny gave us to fill the void of not having a mother or a father for that matter and all you could do was show up or find a quiet spot in the house and get tanked up; eyes going east and west. What was the point in trying to sneak it in the house? We weren’t stupid, we knew you were drinking even before you went and bought it. To this day I’m not exactly sure when you’re sober and when you aren’t. Do you realize how frustrating that is?
I used to hate coming to you as a child to get my hair done for school. Granny would send me downstairs to wake you up in the morning when your bedroom was in the dining room so you can do my hair. You would get so upset that you would unnecessarily yank my hair and mumble under your breath. Every time you opened your mouth, every time you motioned to comb my hair, I could smell the hangover on your breath; through your pores. I hated that and the smell will forever be tattooed on my brain. You make me so uncomfortable I cannot fathom how you can stand yourself. Every time I think about how messed up you are, all I want to do is hold my son and tell him I love him.
I guess since you won’t put in the effort of knowing your daughter, I guess I’ll put forth the effort. My name is Asilee Marie Barnes, born September 7th 1987. At the ripe age of 10 months old; I was taken from you to be with my grandmother. Oh wait, you know that much, sorry. Anyway, my hobbies are drawing, writing, crocheting, knitting, video games, blogging, surfing the net. I’m into computer technology and graphic design; I’m pretty good at both. I also build and fix computers. My favorite color is black, favorite animal is the giraffe, favorite shape is the heart. I love going to the zoo, to museums and art galleries. I also love operas, and plays. My favorite genre of music is R&B/Soul and Rock. My favorite foods are pasta, pizza and salad. I don’t drink or smoke. I’m a loner and introverted. I love to read and to sew. Large crowds of people make me uncomfortable. I’m allergic to shellfish and nickel. I have very mild eczema. I’m the type of person who’d prefer not to smile. I’m not an angry person; it’s just that happiness don’t come easy for me. I’ve been so depressed for so long it feels natural to feel that way. Um, what else? Oh, I didn’t graduate high school with my class; I graduated a year later. Oh before I forget, I’m also an Atheist, but that’s slowly changing. I don’t celebrate Holidays of any form. I have a major depression disorder. I’ve written at least two books. I’m very honest and a very loyal person to those who deserve it. It’s not easy for me to trust people and I lack in the communication department; probably because I’m so anti-social.
There was so many times during my childhood that I wished you aborted me; I hated living. When I was a kid I always wished I was a boy. To this day I still find it more comfortable to wear men’s clothing than women’s. I’ve attempted suicide at least 4 times, got caught every single time [I got impeccable timing when it comes to things like that]. When I’m not thinking about my son, I’m thinking about death in every aspect. I’ve had that problem since I was a child. I’m very punctual; I despise being late for anything. I’m also OCD, things around me have to be organized and clean or I’ll lose my mind. I don’t have an affectionate bone in my body. Probably because affection wasn’t in the household I grew up in. It’s a crying shame; I didn’t even have a favorite relative. By default I have a negative outlook on life.
How much hatred do you have for yourself to allow you to destroy every chance of having 5 healthy babies? You mind as well had went and got a damn abortion 5 times. You prostituted yourself to support your filthy little habits. In result you ended up with 5 emotionally scarred children. One lies too much; one cries too much, the other lashes out at everyone but the one really involved, the other one keep to themselves because they hate 3 out the 4 people they live with. Deep down although we’ve forgiven you, there are things that have yet to be said. Which is why my psychiatrist is making me type out this letter to you. I didn’t really want to because I really hate wasting my time but hell what do I have to lose by trying? I already don’t have a mom.
I’m going to flat-out ask you [knowing I’ll never get a straight answer]. Who is my dad? What is his name? What did he look like? I need to know damn it. I never got an answer from you. All you could tell me was that he was dead. Even that came into question when a complete stranger came up to me and told me that he saw him at church that previous Sunday. Granny called you and asked you [with me on 3-way] and you said ever so frankly, “you mean to tell me that I’ve been lied to all these years?” you’re supposed to know these things like they were tattooed on the back of your hand. Life isn’t fair I know but you didn’t help mine much.
You were so damn selfish and so damn addicted to what the hell you were doing, you didn’t give a shit about the life you had growing inside of you. You sure as hell didn’t give a shit about the consequences that would arise afterwards. Your first child got taken from you, why would you do the same thing 4 more times? You knew your mom would take us and keep us together. You make me sick sometimes.
I take a look at my son and he looks so innocent. He loves his mom and all he wants is his mom, dad, his diaper changed, something to eat and to be held. How could you not take care of your kids? Being a mom is a little frustrating at times but it’s fun. When my son smiles at me and grab my finger I feel like the world is an ok place to live. You are my benchmark of what NOT to be as a mom. I take one minute out of my day and think about you. I think about all the stress you caused and all the grief and I tell myself I could never be like you. I’m already succeeding at things you failed at. I can understand not being ready to be a mom for like 5 minutes or so but thirty damn years?
1 Christmas and 23 botched birthday’s later and it looks to me you haven’t learned a god damned thing. Handing your child money on their birthdays and thinking that’ll make them love you more because at least your conscience is guilt free for the rest of the day doesn’t make you a mother. Giving birth doesn’t make you a mother. The moment you stuck that pipe to your lips; that bottle to your mouth, your parental rights were revoked; way before you conceived your first child.
How many times does one have to go to rehab just to come out and do the same damn thing over again just to go back? Only you have the answer to that. Ever notice how I never looked up to you? You never once heard me say ‘I love you mom’ or ‘I want to be my mom when I grow up’ because at a very young age I knew better. I knew and grew up to not expect anything but what you’re used to from you. Crumpled up dollar bills on birthdays, and potato salad on the Holidays. You’ve gotten off Scott-free for 31 damn years “mom”.
Hmm, what do I know about dear old “mom”? Let’s see… Uh, you love Garfield the cat. You enjoy reading erotica. [You can’t believe how many of your books are still in the basement]. You’re a loner. You have eczema. You can cook and clean. & I guess you love salad, I’m not sure any more. Besides that and you being an alcoholic, I don’t know anything else about you. That’s pathetic isn’t it? I don’t even know how old you are. Well, that doesn’t matter to me; I don’t really care.
I shouldn’t have this much animosity towards someone who gave me life but I do. Because that’s all you did, you didn’t do anything else. Grandma raised 7 kids. Both of her children sadly FAILED her. She fed your kids, took your kids to their doctor’s appointments, clothed your kids, put a roof over your kid’s heads, and gave them birthday parties, bought your kids Christmas presents. She did everything she could to make us happy because she felt bad. We didn’t ask to be here so the least you could have done was raise your own kids. Here she is 75 years old and still trying to do for them daughters of yours. You know what? I think I hate you. The more I think about my motherless childhood the more pissed I get. I used to blame myself as to why you hate me so much and why there was no father in my life. That was before I realized that it wasn’t my fault that you fucked your life up.
There are so many things I hate about you. I hate how when granny would cook and you didn’t do anything but walk through the door and grab some food and leave without even a damn thank you. How you would take pots, pans, silverware, canned goods, whatever you can get your grubby hands on and act like you don’t know a damn thing when granny confronts you on it. How you used to piss in very same pots we cook and eat out of. What really pissed me off about you were your excuses as to why you couldn’t make it to my middle school graduation. What was it about the house that you so desperately had to watch from your couch in the hallway? When we got back from my graduation, you were gone. So the house pretty much watched itself.
My son will never know anything about you just so you know. I was truly contemplating on even sending you a damn picture. [But granny said you would hit the roof if I didn’t. I honestly believed the only reason you would be is because everyone got one but you. Never mind the person in the picture but the simple fact you didn’t get one.] I felt you didn’t even deserve to get one. You’re not his grandmother, that’s an insult to MY grandmother. You don’t call and see how he’s doing, but I guess not. We don’t have what you want. You’re not going to get beer and/or cigarette money out of me so why would you call? I honestly don’t care if we ever talk again. We don’t have a damn thing in common. The only thing I know about you is all the negativity and that depresses me. I’m depressed enough; I don’t need you to be one of the reasons why.
When we are in a room together, I get this feeling that I need to protect myself from you. You’re like this stranger that everyone but me know. I feel like you’re intruding on a life you didn’t earn to be a part of. For a while I wished you would just disappear and never come back. Now I just feel like you’re a nuisance that I have no choice but to deal with.
Granny, Aunt Barbara, Aunt Pearl, David & Louie; hell even Mignon has asked about me. Granny has not yet told me that you’ve asked about me. You know what? My expectations of you are far greater than they should be. I need to stop expecting you to wise up and be a mother. All I’m doing is wasting energy I could be using on other things. Like being the best mom I can be.
When you leave this earth, I’m not sure how I’ll feel honestly. There’s nothing about you that I’ll miss. I’ll think about all the walls you talked to and cursed out in the house. I’ll remember the crack pipe I found in the living room on the floor. I’ll remember all the half empty 40oz bottles I used to find stashed in the house. I’ll remember the only time you’ll talk to Aunt Barbara was to get some beer/change from her. I’ll remember all the arguments you and granny had. I’ll remember the hatred that I have for someone I’m supposed to love.
I wonder what it would have been like if you stepped up and been a mom to your kids. I wonder how much better your life would have been. I really wonder how your life would have been if whatever or whoever turned you into the person that you are never existed.
You drown your sorrows in the bottom of a bottle because you hate yourself; you can’t stay sober for too long because it hurts too much. That’s a sad way to live. Whoever did this to you, I hate them more than I’ll ever hate you. But if this is all your doing, then you’re the person I hate the most. Hate; a word I don’t use loosely. I hate that I hate you. There’s no pleasure in it. You know what? Now that I think about it, you’ve been to at least ONE of your other children’s events; you’ve been to NONE of mine. Listen if you hate the man you laid down to have me that’s fine but don’t take your hatred out on me. I didn’t ask for a deadbeat mom. I didn’t ask for any of this. I honestly don’t believe my father is dead, I think you hate him so much you wish he was dead. Well we’ll never know now will we?
That’s what hurt the most. I don’t even have a name. I mean, you gave me a half-assed name when I was about 8 or 9. You said his name was David. I didn’t believe you then and if you were to tell me that same shit today, I still wouldn’t believe you. Just face it, you didn’t care who you laid down with that day, you just wanted what came with it; a good time and the sound of what’s to come. Listening to yourself blow all of your earnings out of your mouth into a puff of smoke, or whatever the hell you did with it.
You waited a hell of a long time to finally attempt at being a person with a career [well as far as appearances go]. Notice how you’re only thinking of yourself? You know that saying granny always said to us? The sun doesn’t rise or set on your ass.
I hear that every time you move into an apartment building, there are people always messing with you or talking about you. You should know what I’m about to say but since you don’t know your own daughter..
Honestly, you’re doing something to give them reason to mess with you. How loud are you talking to your four walls? When you’re thinking to yourself, are you mistaking it for talking out loud? You can’t keep moving from place to place doing the same damn thing expecting different results. People are going to talk regardless but you need to stop making it so easy for them. Well that’s all I have to say about that.
A daughter needs their mom but I can sadly say that I don’t need you. You’re going to need your children before we ever need you.
I’m not sorry for this letter. These are my feelings and this has been heavy on my mind for years and years. I started to say to hell with the idea of typing up this letter and just go to my grave with my emotions. That’s not a healthy way to live the rest of my life. Your mistakes have already pained my life enough. I need this off my chest once and for all.
You should be proud of your daughter. She didn’t make the same mistakes you made and she made something of herself. She became her own person. She married a wonderful man and had a beautiful son. Besides all my personal flaws and all, the first thing you shouldn’t think of your daughter is hate like you did when I went out the door to go to the store. You hated me so much in that one moment you voiced it and my younger siblings heard you. They told me the next day at the dinner table. You must have known they were going to say something to me and you must have known I was going to face you on that. I wish I could have heard you say it. I’m sure it sounded less rehearsed and there was more passion behind those 3 words than the other 3 you so loosely use.
I’m not perfect and I’ve done some messed up things in my life so if I’m coming off as Mrs. Perfect those are not my intentions. This letter is about you and the lack of relationship between us. It’s causing a lot of issues mentally. I never officially got to say what I truly felt on my heart these years.
I cried many a night as a child for many reasons; some I care not to discuss any more and I’m sure if you think about it hard enough, you’ll get the gist.
It’s painful to know that I’ll always feel awkward around you and that we’ll never have a mother-daughter relationship. If you’ve tried in the past, I’ve must have been oblivious to it.
My son is going to grow up and he’s going to ask about my life and his relatives. I won’t have anything nice to say about you except that you were a smart woman who made really dumb ass decisions. That will sum up the life I know about you. Then again, I won’t even tell him THAT much.
One day hopefully before it’s too late, you’ll thank your mom for taking care of your kids. If it wasn’t for her, you wouldn’t even know where we were [you probably wouldn’t have cared] and we wouldn’t know if we had siblings or not. The only thing you love about all your children is the fact you didn’t have to raise them. We got in the way of all the drinking and hanging with random men. That’s cool I learned all I needed to learn about being a woman from grandma.
I know one thing, don’t you EVER in your life EVER talk down to me about my marriage. You got married at 21 and granny was the last person to know. You let her know about the wedding a day before and you asked her to walk you down the aisle. My wedding is going to be in September of this year and she was the first person to know about it. You owe me and the rest of this family an apology just so you know. & what the hell is this “she must not like being a Barnes anymore” bullshit you told granny when you saw my name on Facebook? You were married for a ½ a second before; you should know the process in the name change. & keep my husband and son’s business out of your mouth if all you got is negative shit to say. His last name, hell his whole name is his dad’s name. You don’t have any room to talk about anyone. You shouldn’t have any opinions about anything I do. You don’t have the right to object to anything I do or say.
I know one thing, I honestly believe we are going to have a problem if you call up grandma one more time tanked up; mad about something you have no business being mad about. Be miserable all by your damn self. Leave my grandma out of your bullshit. You’re a grown ass woman and yet you’re still acting childish. What you thought going to college would make you look like you’ve matured? Nah, I hope that’s not what you were aiming for when you decided to take up Child Services [at least that’s what granny told me you were taking up]. OH THE IRONY!
You feel left out? Always feeling like you’re the last to know things? Whose fault is that? I feel more comfortable telling a stranger on the street about my day than I do telling you. You can’t be offended in one instance and not care in another. What I’m saying is, you didn’t want to be a mom so you shouldn’t be upset when you get treated like the very thing you are, a woman who had 5 babies and walked away. You don’t have the right to be upset with me at all. But continue, jump out the pan into the fire. Keep distancing yourself from your daughter. Keep naïvely contradicting yourself. Keep being YOU. See how far that gets ya’.
Unlike you, I don’t need liquid courage to say what I have to say. I’ve always been that way. You can add this letter to the list of excuses as to why you hate me/scared to talk to me.
You can hate me until you turn blue in the face. I know deep down I’m your least favorite. Do you hate me because I’ve became everything you’re not? Do I really look that much like my father or something? How could you let me get this old and not tell me who my father is? You must know that it will affect me in some way. Unless you’re the ‘Virgin Mary’ you have no excuse about why I don’t at least have a description about who my father was; or is. Guess it depends on if he’s dead or not. You’ve bottled up your past but it’s time you opened up. I am owed that much and if you can’t give me that much then you really disgust me.
I will lose all respect for you. You lowered yourself to that point where you don’t even know who my father is? What he looks like? What his name is? Was all of that really worth it? You have to look at the results of your selfishness for the rest of your miserable life.
It’s messed up that at 10 months young, I didn’t even have any of my shots. You know what? Thank you for being a deadbeat. I would have been worse off with you. Being burned with a cigarette and left in the cold while you’re under the covers was worth it. Leaving me in the apartment alone while you’re downstairs in a bar and someone came and took me to granny was what you would call a blessing in disguise.
Again, I look at my son and just think, how could a mother be so neglectful to an innocent baby? How could a mother be so uncaring and irresponsible? If she didn’t want kids, she would have taken the necessary precautions. Good thing my son was planned or that would make me look like a hypocrite right about now huh? 5 unplanned, unwanted pregnancies and now all you can do is block all of that out with alcohol and I don’t want to know what else.
If I keep going I may actually cry because I let the anger build up so much over the years. Then again, you aren’t worth crying over, let alone the ink I’ll be wasting when I print this, nor the stamp and envelope I’ll be using to send this to you.