An open letter to the woman who birthed me

The thing I hear so often is "nobody deserves that," but I find this naïve as there tends to be a multitude of people, who have done things so absolutely heinous that nothing in the world should bring about forgiveness. As a child, I experienced the feeling of begging for death so often I will never be able to tally them up for all to see. I spent hours, years, decades, counting down for my day of death.

I was ripped from my mother's teat by my own trauma, refusing anything to do with her as she abandoned me for the umpteenth time. I knew her to be untrustworthy, to be unreliable for the whole of my life. She exposed her two children indiscriminately to the horror that is the human will. My will begged for the end by any cost to myself, I would sit in front of the door hoping for a swat team to focus their gunfire on my forehead before I had even seen inside a classroom. I wished greatly for safety, for normality, and over all else, a childhood.

My brother and I were put through the wringer as they attempted to wash us of our personalities, unneeded and unwanted. Our strength was a minor setback, until I was twelve, when my "step-father" realized I held no fear in my shriveling heart for him, and instead grew a flourishing garden of hatred for him, I wanted him dead, and I wanted it now.

Do I miss my brother? Yes, to put it plainly as I will never retrieve the innocent and kind boy I raised, but instead whatever it is that his father molded into upon my leaving that house. I know he is the same, yet he remembers little to nothing of our days together, or at least he doesn't let on. I am aware I seem cold hearted or despondent by ignoring the existence of my long "lost" mother.

She had an accident years ago, and she'll never be the same, she will never remember what terrifically sadistic things she exposed me to at such a young age, she doesn't remember me holding her blood in her body with my small, shaking hands. She never will return to the woman who attempted to love, and failed as Icarus did with the sun, the brilliance of it all melted her confidence and individuality to a simple pile of wax and feathers.

She was weakened years before the accident and I have often felt she found her death of ego years before her accident, the spark in her eye abandoned her as she did me, time and again, but hers would never return. She is and always will be gone, her unknowing parting words from me being "you're right, I died in that accident" in her usual lurid tone of voice, spiked with the grating pain of sorrow.

This one is for you, mom, the woman who ruined me indefinitely. This one is for you, who chose to have children she had no awareness of. This is for you, mom, the one who couldn't even take care of yourself.

It had been confirmed, dearest mother, that without your traumas, I would likely be well and good. I would likely have had the chance to have a healthy body and mind, yet you chose to have me, and hold me close through your horrors, bring me to your dry bosom and attempt to woo me with your charm. You thought having kids would be as easy as a one night stand you were so proficient in, and now your children are damaged and shattered.

I have done my best to rebuild in the wake of the nuclear explosion that was my childhood, or lack there of. I really would have rather never known my biological mother.