Family
Dear Mommy:
I always felt like a burden to you and Dad. I was never coordinated enough, pretty enough, confident enough. I was clumsy; always falling and hurting myself, breaking things because I was curious and heavy handed. You were such a young mother and you and Dad always worked so hard; I tried to help by cooking and cleaning up; however, my help always seemed to cause a bigger mess and made you impatient and stern.
By Kim Brewer4 years ago in Confessions
A Sun And Her Son
Hey mom, Have you ever heard the myth of a sun, moon and black hole? No? Let me narrate it to you. Once upon a time, there was a beautiful and warming sun that shines the ray of love to everything surrounding her. A giant black hole at the nearby was roused from his eternal hibernation with the smooth touches of her rays and he immediately wished to make her his own only. Getting the blessings of the gods, this black hole got the privilege of marrying the stunning sun. Soon after their marriage, they gave birth to a moon. The moon was as bright as the sun, near to it and shone during both the daytime and nights. Sadly, the black hole was unable to live harmoniously with the sun and the moon. His darkened identity became a barrier to the peace of the family, he kept absorbing every single sprinkle of light. But he was ungrateful about that and sought more of it. The sun cried badly that the beams of light sprang from her eye created the uncountable stars on the sky. The moon, saw her sorrow and decided to abolish the black hole. And he did that! He effaced his father, the black hole. Starting from that day the light of the moon has dimmed, it moved away and started to hide from the sun and abdicated from the daylight in favor of the night.
By Yonathan Getachew4 years ago in Confessions
A Mother’s Love
When I felt defeated by difficult pieces as a young artist, you would always tell me that there was nothing that I couldn’t do. After becoming frustrated, you’d make me take a break and revisit the drawing when I felt better. You taught me that the essence of beauty lives within my heart space & energy. That that which I produce, will reflect what I feel, and who I am.
By Pashance A4 years ago in Confessions
Maybe It is My Last Letter to You Mom
Dear mom, Hope God keeps you healthy. I haven't seen my father since I was little. You raised me and cared for me. I have learned patriotism from you. You wanted me to be an army member and serve the country. According to your wishes, I am now serving in the Army. Now the country is at war. I don't know if my letter will reach you. I never thought I would face such a situation. I participated in the war.
By Mehedi Hasan Shawon4 years ago in Confessions
Dear Mom
I love you and I care about you, but I do not like you. In fact, I silently resent you. The pain in my heart, the suffering in my eyes and the death of my soul. All caused by you and the decisions you passed down onto me. You’re called mom and yet you are only one by default. The life I've lived and the mistakes I've endured that you’ve made. Your decisions cause me to make my own decisions that I do not want. The drugs and guys you’ve chosen to be in your life, trickle down onto me. The kids not biologically mine, but legally and emotionally. I feel so lonely and used. I do not feel like a daughter but like an ATM and a safe last choice. In a way I'm glad I took in the kids as it got me to where I am now, but the question lingers in my mind. Would I be happier? How would my life be? If it was just me. Would I have bought a house at age 20? Dropped out of college? Would I be as mature? I’m up and down on my seesaw of emotions. Sometimes I'm content with my life. Other times I resent everyone and everything. How could you decide that a little girl would be a great second mom to the kids you decided to have. Why were the drugs better for you then your kids? Why were all your horrible choices pushed onto me? Because “I'd make a great mom?” well maybe that’s because I raised your kids my whole life. Almost everyone in my life just uses me because I can’t say no to people. All I want for myself is to be happy and feel what freedom is. I want to be able to not have to worry about food at home for the kids. To hope people are ok with me bringing my siblings with me sometimes. I love them with all my heart and I would never let them be somewhere they don’t want to be or feel unsafe. I would never say no they can't be with me. But why me? Why was this all on me? I shouldn’t be the one that has to care and worry for them. I’m not much older than them and yet I act as their mother. And now their dad is in prison, which is a good thing for almost everyone. Who do they really have except me? The mental trauma they fight with everyday as they hope i won’t say “ I don’t want you anymore” just like everyone else. I want them to be happy and not worry if there's food or if they'll get screamed at. I don’t want them to live the way I did growing up. Watching their parents do drugs, seeing their mom get hit and abused and hoping you aren’t next. Watching your dad get drunk and beat up your papa, the only adult that truly raised you and treated you like a kid. People telling me my whole life they expect great things from me. Causing me to never feel like I'm doing good enough no matter what I do. I hate you silently mom, you took my life away from me. Yes it taught me things but is the knowing worth the suffering? Is it worth having to pay off the debt you put me in cause you stole my money? I know I'm supposed to cherish you, but how do you cherish the person that makes you hate your life? I’ll never show you this letter, I'm sure. Even though I love you, I hate you. I hate the women you’ve become and who you’ve made me into.
By Kristina Brule4 years ago in Confessions
I have nothing to wear
Dear Mom, I have nothing to wear. It’s pizza night at your house. Casual. Easy. I have nothing to wear. I put on jeans. The thick dark denim feels snug across my belly. I have a belly. It rolls and softly folds into itself. You always seemed so squeamish around bellies. When I was little, you talked about muffin tops and beer bellies. When you saw one, you’d click your tongue and your thin lips would get thinner. I used to not eat muffins or drink beer. A flat stomach was possibly my single most important goal for my entire twenties. Despite it all, I still have a belly. A sweet belly, a happy belly. A loud belly, an angry belly. A belly. I wiggle out of my denim. I have nothing to wear.
By Lisanne Binhammer4 years ago in Confessions
A letter to the woman beside my cradle
Dear Mother, Ever since the day I was able to gargle words to you, you’ve tried to understand me and the many things I wanted to say. Even though there'd be nights where we’d argue, and you’d sit in your room in silence. I still knew that after the storm cleared, you’d be in my room with me wrapped in your arms as we showered each other in affection and apologies. You’ve always been able to read me like a book, and pierce through my heart like a needle. But even I know not every needle can penetrate every surface. I feel like every child has a secret or two that they put under wraps for years to come. Like how they broke a lamp and blamed it on the cat, or how they threw away their report card and pretended it disappeared when asked about its whereabouts. But my secret isn’t quite as simple or as faint as that. The skeletons I have in my closet aren’t as normal as any other child’s. My closet goes deep and as you enter the darkness, it almost feels like the air gets thicker, and its hard to breathe. But I digress. When I was 8, you’d often be busy at work trying to support us as best you could. You were juggling that, being a nursing student, and trying to feed me and get me a sitter for the summer. Because your funds were understandably tight, you couldn’t afford $200 a week for a professional sitter. So instead, you looked to my absent father for a bit of assistance. I remember standing in the grocery store line, holding your hand as you choked back the tears from your eyes. I already knew that my father had said no to watching me, and I could tell it broke your heart into a million pieces. You never did like to let me see you cry, because you knew that it would make me worry about you. So, you just hung up the phone, wiped your eyes, and smiled at me like nothing had happened. I knew you wanted to drop to your knees and break down in the middle of that store, but you didn’t want to be seen as “weak.” So after about a week of trying to find a sitter, you got a call from my grandma. I was sitting on the floor in the room pretending to play with my toys, but I was secretly paying attention to your conversation. I couldn’t hear everything, but I did manage to hear the words “uncle,” and “sitter” and I was immediately on edge. My uncle had a very known reputation for being lazy, rude, and strict. So often when I was watched by him, it was as if I was just watching myself. Soon my fears were confirmed when you ran into my room ecstatic with “good news.” You told me I’d be spending my summer days at my grandma’s until you and she were off from work. I just nodded and gave a fake smile to make you happy, because I knew you were glad you thought I’d be in good care. Fast forward to the middle of June, and my days were filled with solitude in my grandmother’s room. Everyday I’d watch the same shows on repeat and would stuff my face with pop tarts, fruit snacks and chips. Yes, I hated being here, but I knew it would just stress you out further if I bothered you about it. So, I kept my mouth shut and just prayed the hours would pass so that I could finally see you again. But one day made me sure I never wanted to spend another moment with my uncle again. It was July 7th and he had just come back in the house from a quick smoke. I remember feeling especially irritated by him because I was getting impatient with him and his terrible care. So as soon as I heard the door slam open, I ran to confront him about it. Now remember, I was 8, I didn’t really put much thought into what I was saying but I knew that it was going to be something that would make him finally listen to me. “Hey!” I shouted to him from the stairs, he just rolled his eyes and said “what?” I took a deep breath and said, “You don’t take good care of me, you only sit down in your room, play video games, and cook for yourself. You never actually care for me.” Even though I knew the words were coming from my mouth with volume behind them, he just stood there and looked at me as if I was just shouting nonsense to him. This irritated me even further, so I yelled, and I quote, “IF YOU DON’T STOP BEING SUCH A BASTARD, I’LL GO TELL MY MOM ON YOU!” And just that fast, he was gone. No, he didn’t walk away. H e was charging toward me up the steps. My life almost flashed before my eyes as I ran toward the storage room that was to the left of his. But I was too slow. He had gotten a hold of my shirt and tossed me into the futon in the storage room. I remember the smell of his rancid breath brushing across my face as he held me by my ruffled-up collar. “Watch who the f**k you’re talking to,” are the only words he growled to me in a hushed whisper before the let go of my collar and stomped off to his room. I sat there for what felt like an eternity as my heart felt like it was going to burst out of my chest. But the funny part is, even after all of that, I still never exactly told you why I never wanted to go back to grandmas. I guess I just didn’t think I should, or maybe he’d hurt me again. All you know is that I came to you saying I was tired of staying at her house because it was boring. And after a bit of pressure, you finally let me stop going there during the week. Yeah, you were annoyed with me, but I knew if I told you what really happened you would’ve blamed yourself. And that would’ve hurt me more than his fist or the back of his hand. Luckily, I never did have to worry about interacting with him so closely again. And when I did, it was quick, awkward, and silent. Now that I’ve wrestled that skeleton out of my closet, I feel like I can finally breathe again. Don’t sit here and blame yourself either, I chose to make this my secret, and that will never be your fault.
By M4 years ago in Confessions
Epilogue
Confessions have never come easily to anyone in our family. We seem to talk a lot without saying very much at all. The discomfort of truth-telling is avoided at all costs, and there are quite a lot of uncomfortable truths strewn across the debris of our lives.
By Kate McGovern4 years ago in Confessions
All the things you haven't seen
Hey mom. I never told you this before, but I probably will never be able to forgive myself for failing to love you when you most needed it. While you gave me life, I was in turn watching yours breaking at the seams without knowing what to do.
By The Jealous Girlfriend4 years ago in Confessions
