Dear Mother,
I have never had sex. I have never done drugs. I have never drank alcohol, but still you are the first person to accuse me of so. You don’t trust me. You don’t believe in me. You don’t have confidence in me. You aren’t pride of me. Life’s not fair, I know, but I have never done anything to cause you to think that I am a bad child. I go to youth group. I lead a bible study. I get excellent grades. I work at the library. I work in a nursery. Although you turn all of these into lies. At youth group I am doing drugs with my friends. In the park I am having sex. At school I could never compare to my brother’s perfection. At the library I am meeting secret guys. At the nursery I am getting drunk.
All of this you have made up in your sick and twisted head. When my sibling was doing real drugs, when he was destroying his life and throwing his grades down the toilet, you said nothing to anyone. You accuse me of these horrifying allegations; none of them are true, but you find a way to let the world know. All I have ever done was ached and searched for perfection, for your affection, beaming pride, and acceptance. You, my mother, can’t stand me because I am your daughter. The only girl out of five kids, and you can’t stand the ground I walk on.
Mother I will go away. I will sink to the depths of never-never land, but I promise you this: you will never forget me. You will spend the rest of your life wishing and yearning for something you threw away. I will be long gone; I will have long forgotten. At one time I was small and innocent; you killed it.
Sincerely,
A daughter who was only loved by her father
