With all the changes occurring in my life lately, I've been wracked with an extreme amount of emotional anguish. I've been doing my best to deal with it silently, but I should know by now that never works. So even though I know you're never going to read this, I still need to get some things off my chest, Lissette.

(This photo was dated 11 years ago. I wonder if you told your new husband about me...)

I can't even bring myself to refer to you as 'mom' anymore. Even if you were standing in front of me, you'd feel like nothing more than a stranger. I remember you being about my height with jet black hair that you constantly put way too much hairspray in. A bad habit you held onto from being an 80s teenager and never let go of, I think. Your skin was a light shade of mahogany, a trait you were always upset I didn't inherit. You wanted a full blooded Puerto Rican child who embraced her culture like your siblings had, but that's not what you got. To put it frankly, I was an accident. A mistake. The product of an interracial relationship your family always resented you for. Your mother even refused to be there for you at the hospital when I was born. 

You were a 21 year old basically left to figure motherhood out on her own, but if we're both being honest with ourselves, it was a journey you never should have taken. You had the help of my father, but you didn't really like him that much. You married each other because you felt that you had to under the circumstances. I remember you guys sitting me down when I was about 5 years old and explaining you wanted to separate. You took me back to Connecticut and dad stayed in South Carolina. I lasted about a week with you at your sister's house before climbing on the counter one night and calling dad, begging him to come get me. He came back and you two bitterly decided to stay together, which you did for the next eight years. Eight long, painful, traumatic years.

Every once in a while, I'll be in a group of friends and we'll talk about our childhoods. Someone will recount a story about a time they got in trouble and their mom whipped their backside, and everyone will laugh and then go around sharing similar anecdotes of times they were disciplined. I usually sit these occurrences out. I can never seem to find a way of making that time you put a butcher knife to my throat funny. Or that time you choked me until I almost passed out before dad ripped you off of me. It's especially trying when I have to say, "I guess I'm a novelty!" when confronted about my unusual distaste for spicy food despite my Latin blood. I can't possibly say, "Well, my mom used to force feed me bottles of hot sauce when she felt I was talking out of turn, so now I'm too emotionally scarred to handle it! Hahahahaha!" It just wouldn't translate into humor, I feel.

It never ceased to amaze me how cruel you could be, though I've always felt the emotional pain far outweighed the physical. I mean how is it possible to have zero memories of hugs, kisses, and praise from your parent? How could you look at my face and spew vile statements like, "I wish you had been the baby I miscarried?" How is it possible for me to only recall instances of abuse in bathroom stalls and hotel rooms rather than joyful memories when thinking back on childhood trips to Disney World? 

Do you remember that time you took my grandmother to Magic Kingdom while I was being held in the Children's Crisis Center under psychiatric evaluation after trying to kill myself? I certainly do! It was easier for you to tell her I was on a school trip than admit your fuck ups had driven me to want to die. When you did eventually show your face at the hospital, you had the nerve to cry in front of the doctors. You weren't sure if I had given you up or not, so you tried to show insincere remorse hoping that would spare you blame and the possibility of being arrested. They still reported you and police left the decision to press charges or not with me. For the first time, the roles reversed and I had power over you. But because I'm a far better person than you'll ever be, I let you off with the understanding you would seek psychological help. No sooner was that cop back in his patrol car, than were you back to being aggressive and loud. 

That was when I made the decision to remove you from my life.

People have tried to shame me at various points for making such a drastic move. Victim blaming; something I've experienced too many times as a 25 year old woman. But I'll tell you honestly, I don't regret doing what I did. You were a toxic presence in my life who threatened my physical and mental health daily. I did what was best for me. For the first year after you moved out, you kept dropping cards with money in the mail for my birthday or Christmas. That really got under my skin. I didn't need your guilt money. I needed a mother. I needed healing. I needed an apology. I needed explanations.

I had to grow up without any of that.

No mother/daughter dates. No one to help me understand the changes a teenage girl goes through. No one to go prom dress shopping with. No one to help me through broken hearts. No one to bare my soul to. Just no one.

I was filled with anger for a long time, and to a certain extent I still am today. But if nothing else, what you did helped me realize I can get through anything. Nothing anyone has done or said to me in my life since has been worse than what I went through living with you. In a twisted way, you made me strong. I have my bouts of depression and anxiety that no doubt were exacerbated by what you forced me to endure, but in the back of my mind, I know I'll get through it. I've already weathered the worst.

Unfortunately, I still struggle with things today. I'm getting married next week, and people keep throwing around the phrase "new family", and it's weird for me. I feel like I've never had a family. It took me a bit of time to relax around them and accept the hugs and 'I love yous', and people being nice to me. I'm still constantly afraid I'm going to upset people, and I find myself trying my hardest to make others proud of me. I developed an unhealthy need for the approval of others because of you, and I haven't been able to shake it. My fiancé keeps trying to get me to believe that people aren't always going to be aggressive with me if they're unhappy, but I have a hard time letting go of the belief that it's a real possibility they will.

I don't know if you still look the same today, and after 13 years I can barely even remember what your voice sounded like. But what I do remember, in spite of how hard I've tried to forget, are your actions. What you did to me. What you put me through. What you said. But I know that no matter how hard I've hurt for the past 25 years, the pain you must be going through is a thousand times worse. Only someone who was hurting within themselves would be capable of the things you were. And even if motherhood was something you were never destined for, it was still a thing you experienced. How hard must it be for you to lay your head down at night with the weight of your sins on your mind. 

I used to feel bitter about all things I never got to experience, but look at all the things you've missed out on. Me starting high school, my sweet sixteen, homecomings, proms, graduation, me starting college, my first job, learning to drive, my first date, my first boyfriend, my engagement, wedding dress shopping, my wedding, and so much more to come! But more so than milestones in my life, you've missed out on me. Christine. A deeply flawed, but kindhearted and loving young woman. Someone who tries so hard to put positivity and beauty into the lives of others, even though they were things never extended to her. A talented, moderately funny, wealth of useless knowledge. A fighter. A badass. A force to be reckoned with. 

Your daughter.

I just hope wherever you are you realize that you didn't destroy me.