reverse

Hi Everyone....been awhile since I've posted (was posting on ACoA here and there), but I just wanted to share a something. For the longest time I was always blaming myself for the problems in my family and holding myself basically emotionally hostage for the reasons why I was unhappy, and everyone else. After going to counseling for a year or so, I've gotten to the point where I'm finally allowing myself to grieve and put responsibility where it belongs. Now I'm realizing I'm more angry than I ever thought I'd be and am more in touch with how I feel inside vs. always focusing on other things and/or denial of the loss/pain. I wrote a letter about a month...HUGE letter full of anger listing all of the resentments I have against my alcoholic mother of 30+ years. I'm sure you won't read all of it, but I"ll post it anyway in case someone will who can relate. I have to say it has felt good and liberating to actuallly voice my anger and frustration--to own it and say it's ok to feel this way. That I'm entitled to be angry instead of 'how dare you'. To have my own feelings and not feel guilty about it. To be angry and it still be ok to be so. I used to think...oh that's not the 'right thing to do' or I shouldn't do or say that. Well, I've held back for so long trying to do the right thing or handle it the 'right way' all the time and walk on eggshells for the sake of everyone else. This letter is pretty much a selfish moment for me (what I was raised thinking selfish) and I couldn't feel any better about unleashing the madness I carry inside every day. So here it is. Feel free to comment/share. I posted it on fb with access to only certain people which included some of my relatives. This was a huge step for me. I just figured--what do I have to lose? Absolutely nothing and everything to gain--which is my sanity.

Maternal Angst Unleashed

A letter from an anguished and bewildered mother to her drunk mother.

Garbage is not recyclable…too bad I’m not recyclable. Yet again, I waste my time writing another letter full of empty words that will fall on deaf ears. Words that will be buried, twisted, misread, and misunderstood. I’m bestowed a legacy of being understood as the ****-up, while the one who really ******-up will be revered as something so sacred….so sacred everyone better walk on eggshells—better yet walk on water.

I’ll start out by briefly generalizing your lack of happiness. You’re so sad b/c your life never turned out perfect; sooo sad over things 30+ years past. I’ve heard it a million times…all of your tears and sorrows. You have every
tragedy in the world to use as an excuse as to of why you were never happy and why you have been drinking yourself into oblivion for 30+ years. The truth is, b/c of your misery, I’ve been through much more pain than you could ever imagine. You think you are so miserable and that your life is unfair—tho you’ve brought most of it on yourself? Well, let me tell you my story for once. I’ve had to (my sister as well) deal with not having a mother (and father) who refuse to figure out what being a parent means for nearly 30 years. For being born to parents who never wanted me from the beginning. I have often wished you would have lost me when my dad kicked you in the stomach when you were pregnant with me (so you say). Let’s see who really has had it so bad, since you like to think life is so bad for you….

--Your parents have remained married for 50+ years now. My parents divorced when I was two. Then I was forced to call a strange man ‘dad’ (remember all the fights and threats he gave me to call him ‘pa’ b/c that’s

what he called his dad? He’d hit me so many times and I refused to give in and do what he wanted. Over my dead body would I call him dad or ‘pa’. I insisted on calling him Jay….by his name.) -who gave me a bloody nose at age four while my mother was passed out drunk. Apparently he had very jealous feelings of my biological father when I said I wanted my mom and dad to get back together. The bloody nose was a sweet introduction to many years that followed.



-Your father never hit you on the head, called you stupid, pulled out your teeth before they were ready to come out (5 in one sitting…I remember vividly him telling me to go wash off the blood that was all over my face and you coming in the room freaking out over what he had done to me…and he downplayed the entire thing—even later saved some of my teeth as if they were a prize trophy he just had won in a softball tournament), force you to make him meals or else you’d get bopped in the head (I could go on and on when it comes to what he did physically—I remember every incident vividly and finally just stopped having nightmares about him a year ago after I went through a lot of counseling) for nearly 20 years. Whilst my father never did those things to me b/c he was absent most of my life, my step-father did—yet you still remain with him after all these years. (Tho I will give you credit for making sure I had braces after my grandfather chewed you out about it. That is one area he did put his foot down and confront you about...surprisingly.)



-I never recall you telling me that your father forced you to sleep in the same bed as him from age 4 until 10. My step-father did—tho he should’ve been sleeping with a GROWN woman. If he was such a great guy you should have been in bed with him every night. Yet you’d use me as an excuse just so you could avoid him. Apparently your sex

life was sooo bad that he needed me to sleep with while you were passed out drunk, right? I remember so many times holding my breath at night wishing I would run out of oxygen and die. Too bad I was too little to know that it’s humanly impossible to hold your breath until you die—otherwise I wouldn’t have even bothered.



-I don’t recall you telling me of all the times your father strangled your mother for many years—with you having to witness it—having sleepless nights b/c of it-constantly being scared for your drunk mother’s life from age 4-13—which were the worst years. After I was 13, the choking was reduced to shoving, pulling hair, and constant yelling after he had to spend a weekend in jail after nearly killing you for the umpteenth time. Your dad never laid a hand on your mother. Yet, your second husband put his hands not only on you, but my sister and I as well. Ironically, your father (in addition to the rest of your family) to this day never believed that Jay was the way he was to us—despite you visiting with black eyes-a broken nose (busted your nose 3 different times remember? I do. I’ll never forget what your nose used to look like.) on several different occasions.



-I recall you telling me how great of a time you had in your teens—you went to concerts as a teen and partied it up with your girlfriends—even had several boyfriends. I wasn’t allowed to party (which is fine--didn't want to anyway) have a boyfriend, or barely even stay at a friend’s house. What did I do for most of my teen years? Homework, drew/painted alone in my room, took care of the household chores, did your laundry, made sure step-dad was taken care of before he had to go to work in the summer time/weekends…and even kiss him on the lips goodbye before he’d leave. I played wife for him. Anytime I ever wanted to do anything with friends…I had to spend hours, days, even weeks begging you to let me do something with a friend. Most of the time, by the time you made up your mind, the event had passed. Even though I went to prom throughout high school, I couldn’t ever stay out w/ my friends.

I came home at 1am for my junior prom and I got screamed at because you claimed I was 15 minutes late—even though our clock was 10 minutes fast. You were so drunk yelling and screaming in my face. I had no where else to go. Who in the **** would want to do anything with their friends when you were that awful to me? I barely could recover from how bad you treated me and was so depressed I could care a less about friends at that point.



-I don’t recall your father ever chasing you down to the ground and strangling you after you ran away from home (my friend had to run him down with a baseball bat to get him off me). Yet, you allowed my step father to do it to

me. He also dragged me down the stairs by my neck and hair at my friends’ house when I was 18…trying to quote ‘drag my ass’ back home. My friend had to jump on \his back hitting him until he let go of me.



-Who paid for you to go to school? Did your parents have awful credit, thus not allowing you to go? No-you attended

college for several years and dropped out—never finishing your degree. You could have gotten an education, but you

made the choice to throw it away—claiming it was my father’s fault. Who paid for my school? Student loans (don’t worry…I will soon pay off the loan my aunt regrettably co-signed for), some scholarships, and mostly the government now—ultimately tax payers. Who took a credit card out in my name when I was 17 and racked up 4,000$

in debt on it? It wasn’t me—despite me confronting you about it, you denied it endlessly acting as if it happened out

of nowhere. Did your mother ever do that to you? Yet, you did it to me. I never purchased anything on a credit card

until just 3 years ago, which was to make a cash advance b/c my husband and I were broke. Yet you incessantly told me, go to school and get an education. Well, mom, how am I supposed to do that when you had terrible credit b/c you were irresponsible? And my dad sure as hell wasn’t going to help me financially—never has b/c he’s too busy with his own life and priorities.



-Your parents and extended family and friends showered you with beautiful expensive wedding gifts and

love with high hopes in celebration of your first marriage (even your 2nd marriage!). What did any of my parents

and extended relatives do? Absolutely nothing (tho that’s my fault-RIGHT? Righhhhtttt….). There was never

once a celebration for the new marital journey in my life. It was everything but a celebration for everyone. From what I’ve heard, many people took the news as doom b/c I was marrying someone who wouldn’t put up with your crap (or play along and buy you mother’s day flowers like my dear brother-in-law does—Gee-I wonder if his wife puts him up to that one.). In fact, according to my sister, no one liked Reza b/c they ALL said they thought he was a ‘know it all’ the first and ONLY time they ever met him. Well, he’s not a know it all…but if u must insist….I don’t think he was recently asked by a UC Berkely graduate to contribute to a magazine b/c he’s stupid. He’s what I’d consider a passionate intellectual—the very first thing about him that I fell in love with.



-What happened when you became pregnant with your first child? You were 17 years old—18 when you

had my sister. Many loved ones threw you a baby shower and ensured you had everything for your first baby. What happened with me? I was 24 when I first became pregnant with my first child and my place of employment (a 350+ bed hospital)/co-workers provided me with a baby shower to furnish most of what I needed—my own manager and

clinical educator (oncology) visited my hospital room and gave me a going home outfit to wear—including shoes to walk home with b/c I only had sandals (in December- cold Washington rains) and my nursing work shoes at the time to wear. I always felt too guilty (looking back on it now—I was stupid) to spend any money on myself (gee I wonder who taught me that mom). What did you do for me? Well, I don’t recall your mother coming to visit you after not seeing you for several years…when your first daughter was born and making a fool out of herself by taking your post partum pain medication (an entire bottle of oxycodone—11 pills) and then lying about it. I tore during my first daughter’s birth and may have needed that medication for my follow-up exam (I was very naïve about the whole process so I was worried). Tho I’m stubborn when it comes to meds, I refused to take more than the one pill on one occasion. Despite the nurses saying it was ok to take while breastfeeding, I still didn’t want to risk Naila getting it. Therefore, I had a full bottle of oxycodone sitting in the medicine cabinet collecting 3 weeks worth of dust.

I had no idea what oxycodone was until I learned from you. I wanted to figure out why in the hell you’d

take that over my ibuprofen (which is what I took instead for my postpartum pain) if u had such bad ‘ankle pain’.

Stupid, naïve’ me. Yea, you waved your little “I didn’t drink-YAY” banner so proudly around to me. Sure, you never drank during that visit (WHICH I’m still wondering what the beer cans were from outside when other tenants in our apartment never once did anything like that), but I’m not sure taking an entire bottle of oxycodone will grant you the grandmother of the year award for a first time experience visiting your 3 week old grandbaby (my first born).

You blew that one to smithereens (but everyone is supposed to be ok with whatever Debbie does b/c she ‘has problems’. Well I have problems too and you’re one of them.). Yet you still wanted me to pretend that you were this great person and bonded with us so well. It felt like nothing but a photo-op to me. Your own sister bought your plane ticket and made you come visit us. I was sooo close to saying no I don’t’ want you to come, but I gave u a chance anyway. Sooo empty is our relationship. Not to mention, I hate hugging you…you smell like death every time I get close to you—not to mention you never shower. You wouldn’t shower the entire time you visited us. But I shouldn’t expect anything more from you when I know what you’ve been about my entire life.



-When you isolated my sister and I from seeing your parents by moving 2 hours away from your family—no one accused you of grandparent alienation. Your parents were good to my sister and i…yet we didn’t visit enough.

What do I have now? A mother who refuses to get her driver’s license after 20+ years and twists it around on

me—telling everyone that your daughter won’t let you see your grandkids. This is what I’ve had to deal with postpartum with all of my babies. How can you see your grandkids when you refuse to get a license to drive? What did I do to cause that? I’m not holding a gun to your head…or better yet…I’m not forcing you to poor the liquor down your throat every night (in addition to the pills I’m sure you’re using as well..valium..vicodin…whatever it was that your brother gave u--a nice supply during my sister’s college graduation weekend (an education I’m sure my dad helped pay for—funny u were celebrating something you had nothing to do with her achieving, yet you and Jay were

boasting about how great you did with raising my sister…ironic how that works out.). The day of my sister's college graduation ceremony. No one slept hardly at all the night before b/c everyone went out drinking. Sometimes I wish I really were forcing pills down ur throat or pouring the whiskey down for you so something could at least be done to stop it…so I actually had some sort of control in the matter. Who’s holding who emotionally hostage? B/c I won’t play your little games, I’m ousted from everyone in the family. I have too loud of a mouth and too much dignity and self-respect not to shut up. My great grandfather Clarence was stubborn and never put up with crap from anyone…yet when I don’t’ put up with it from you and/or anyone else in the family, I’m pinned as being the ‘bad daughter’ and/or unloyal to the family. That’s right…Amanda doesn’t care about anyone in the family that’s why she doesn’t talk to anyone. What a filthy lie. My mother as a teen with my great grandfather Clarence.



So I miscarried a baby boy recently. This is the second time in one year. First baby I lost, I was 18 weeks pregnant and the first one I was 17 weeks. Doctors don’t know why. What does that mean to you mom? Or are you so drunk into oblivion to even care—as usual. Why should I expect anything different? It’s pretty sad when my own co-workers who were there during both events have more emotion and sympathy for myloss than my own family. Not one single phone call. (Wait, my sister called me last year bitterly expressing her condolences then finishing the message with threatening that it was the last time she was going to ever call me --since I don't pick up the phone when she calls. Gee, I wonder why when she yells and screams about **** that doesn't even matter--and accuses me of things I don't do--lazy--the list goes on. But I'm the one who's the bad guy, right?) Quite the warm incentive to call her back.) Someone recently emailed me to ask what happened and when I explained what happened, I never heard anything back. Why would this matter when you haven’t even come to see my last born child who will be two years old next month? You haven’t even seen Suhaila one time since she was born. If the doctor would have sent me home from the hospital early on in the night like they were going to, I could have possibly died if I’d have passed out at home alone. By the time my husband would’ve been able to come home from work (b/c the manager wouldn’t answer her phone all night) I’d have at least been near death b/c I lost so much blood and fluid. I can’t believe I even actually considered calling you before I went to surgery that day. I know that it will never mean **** to you b/c

you’ve always been too drunk—too privileged and too good to ever have to go through a bad ******* day in your life. It’s always about you and how hard your life is all the time. Always have to medicate the pain-cover it

up-b/c you’re too important to have to go through something tough. Must be nice to have that luxury. I for one, couldn’t afford it, and secondly value my children too much to put them through what you’ve put me through. What do I have for all of the pain I go thru? What do I use to cope? Not a damn thing. Let me tell you what I have when I have one hell of a bad ******* day like I did 6 weeks ago? A bright white wall to blankly stare at as I try my hardest not to cry. I do have my children’s smiling faces to see every day and I go to work taking care of patients who have it worse than I do. Some of whom are grown adults who are dying (not by choice) who wish they had more

time to live and spend with their families vs. drink their life away like you. What would I do w/out my husband, children, and the patients (and co-workers) I help take care of to give me something to look forward to?



You’re soo hurt b/c your life never turned out the way you wanted it to and it’s everyone else’s fault BUT yours. I’m sooo hurt b/c I was born into this life hating my own skin--having to be forced to waste my time on someone like you

and have to call them ‘mother’ like it’s all good. You were never “mother”. I hate my own skin b/c it reminds me of a

drunk mother and an absent father. I hate the fact that I was born to two people who will never grow up and realize

what they have. I hate the fact that everyone I know says I’m beautiful and/or a nice person, but I don’t see it b/c

all I see is you. There is nothing to celebrate or anything to be happy about. My first born daughter has your skin color and it makes me sad that it’s not even something I can be proud of. I can’t brag about it b/c what is there worth bragging about? Who brags about their parent who is a drunk? I could say, “Oh she looks like my mom—who I have no relationship with whatsoever…who I so wish I did and so wish she would stop drinking….but it will never happen. I know better than to think otherwise.” Most people don’t change at this point in their lives. Every time I have the chance to look at my skin, I hate it. I look so much like you, yet it makes me sick to even try to see it. Keep telling yourself that you taught me all I know so you can feel so good about it at the end of the day. my mother bothering me about something at 3am before I had school senior year.Despite the fact that I have only seen you 3 times in the last 9 years (tho of course that’s MY FAULT, right?). The last two times you visited you had to hop over to my sister’s house right away b/c she was a bigger priority—not to mention she’d let you hear it if you dare take up any of her time. Not to mention, it was her husband who was your ride over to my place—so you needed to watch your p’s and q’s around her as it was, right? It’s not right for you to visit me on the time you plan to spend with her and her family. That’s why I put my foot down. Not to mention, yet again it was making me look like a jerk to my sister. Oh well, as long as mother gets what she wants in the end—have her cake and eat it too regardless of how other people feel.



This hasn’t even scraped the surface of my discrepancies with you. I have never partied, done drugs, slept or skanked around like you did, so why am I being treated like I’m the problem in all of this? All b/c I won’t shut my stupid mouth? It doesn’t matter what I say now anyway. I’ve been telling people since I was a young girl what was happening and no one believed me or if they did were too scared to cause a disruption in the family. In reality who was the one causing the disruption? YOU! What did I do to deserve this? I’ve tried my best to do the best with what I’ve been dealt. So what’s the next 10 years of hell going to bring? The only thing I’m certain of is you not being there for anything in my girls’ life (and mine for that matter), and maybe a phone call facing me with the dilemma as to of whether or not I need to attend your funeral. I highly doubt your lifestyle of continual drinking/pill taking will

allow you to live until your 80 years old. It will eventually take its toll. I'm certain I will never see an ounce of sober remorse, sobriety, responsibility, restitution, or restoration of our relationship in my lifetime as long as you continue down the same path. I know for myself that I will not hold myself responsible for what you have choosingly reaped in your lifetime. I don't deserve that burden and refuse to ever put my children thru an ounce of anything that nearly resembles what you have done. You have given that to me and I thank you for that. They will know the meaning of mother by my love and the example I set for them. If anyone so much lays a hand on them (or any child for that matter), I will ensure they will suffer the consequences of their actions the best I can, rather than choose to remain silent. Since I'm the only one in our family who will say a damn thing to you, so be it. I'm willing to suffer the consequences as a result of doing so. I refuse to stay silent. If anyone is mad at me for writing this...don't bother wasting your time trying to talk to me about it. You've never cared to listen to me so therefore I really don't care to listen to you.

Seren

Hello reverse, Thank you for sharing your story here....What a really brave thing to do.

I hope you can find some peace and healing. We understand.

lonelystar

hello,

wanted to thank you for sharing that very personal letter with us reading it I found I have the same feelings as you do the addicts in my life are priveldged and always have a good excuse for using such and such because of this and that and yet our feelings are not validated, what we go through seems such a tiny speck compared to there tragedies in life......

Leaping

Hi reverse, thank you for sharing your story. I heard alot of pain in that letter but I also heard that you have alot to be proud of in all you have accomplished. You didnt deserve any of those things that happened to you as a child. I hope you can continue moving forward and let your light shine -

PurpleWilder

That is one of the bravest things I have ever read. Very powerful and, I hope, cathartic.

They say "We are as sick as our secrets.". Once you get them all out into the bright sunshine, they shrivel up and die. Sometimes quick and sometimes very slowly, but bright lovely honesty and hope are the cure.

You sound like a lovely person with a real love for her children and mostly, a developing love for yourself. Don't give up!

wellnowwhat

Thank you for posting such a heartfelt, emotional letter. I hope you find the relief and release you need to keep moving forward and can eventually leave the past in the past.

It sounds like you're making a better life for yourself and your family.

Sending good wishes your way!

GettingBy

Thank you for sharing Reverse. Anger, in response to living a childhood filled with toxicity... is an appropriate feeling. I pray you find peace and the ability to let go of the hurt and pain. You are a special, kind, loveable human being and very much deserve happiness!

StarCat

Thank you for sharing that... You have been through so much! And you are making such healthy decisions and putting up lots of good boundaries.
Really, truly, it was heartbreaking to read all the things your mother subjected you to... and at the same time exciting to see how strong you are in your recovery.

Also, thank you for this:
I'll confess, this tiny comment is making me think a lot about my own family of origin. The details of my childhood were different, yet this sentence still sums up my experience as well. And has helped me come to a few realizations.
Thank you.

wanttobehealthy

Thank you for the courage it must have taken to a) write this letter and b) send it to your mother and c) sharing it with all of us.

I grew up in a very abusive and dysfunctional family too (different details than yours but I could relate to much of what you wrote about how you felt, how you were viewed, what you were told you were etc...) and when I finally (through therapy a couple yrs ago) started to speak the truth about what my FOO had been like, I felt a HUGE release. Feeling the need to keep secrets, blaming ourselves for the pain we feel, believing that we were the terrible things our parents told us we were... All of this is torture and being able to name it and place resposniblity where it belongs has been very healing for me and I hope that you find the same is true for you.

Despite all you went through, you sound like a loving, compassionate woman, mother and wife. You sound like you have accomplished so much despite having so little support and I think you are an extremely brave and courageous woman.

reverse

Thanks everyone for sharing your thoughts and compliments. Surely the letter I wrote contains many more resentments--it's nearly impossible to list them all. However, it's a start to letting go. I like the concept someone stated earlier of letting dark secrets out into the sunshine. It's kind of nice to have things like facebook b/c a lot of time people don't understand when they meet you in person why you are the way you are. For instance, I've worked at this one hospital (I've been a nursing aid for nearly 8 years and start nursing school in a week to become an RN--YAY!) for the past 3+ years and have been very quiet and reserved from many of my co-workers. They all talk about their weddings, family of origins, etc. but I often feel I have very little to share that will relate to them. For example-many of them came from priviledged families and had the ability to plan their weddings as they wished within their means or they are constantly visiting their parents/relatives/etc. So I know that they have often wondered why I have never shared anything like that with them...other than bits and pieces about my husband and my children. Some of my co-workers (who I've become better acquainted with, but still a bit reserved) are on my facebook page and have been able to read some of the things I've posted regarding my family of origin. I often find it's easier for people to read it than to explain b/c for one...I get a bit distraught even having to discuss it...and 2--it's really embarrassing to me to have a family like I do...and people usually don't 'get it'-to some level they can imagine but it's not the same. Anyway...letting it out and bringing it into the sunlight so that others can be like...ok that makes sense... THAT's why she doesn't brag or talk about her family of origin lol....can in a way bring healing to me...b/c I'm tired of having to HIDE IT all the time and be ashamed of it. It helps me put shame where it belongs....w/out having to verbally talk about it and get upset. It's kind of pretty much impossible TO talk about it when u make friends b/c it's very deep. Anyway...thanks again for reading and I'm glad some of u could find some sort of clarity/solace in relating. Blessings to u.