I want something that will be just about me. What I get is something about everyone else.

You raised me. You taught me. You made me feel like I had to be just like you or I wouldn't be worth anything. You neither discouraged nor nurtured my creativity. You always made me organize and re-organize. You tried to make me get rid of my toys. You wouldn't let me go first on my birthday, but at my "best friends" you told me to let her go first because I was the birthday girl. I always feel like you're trying to replace me. You say you love me, but you barely know me.

You forced religion down my throat. You isolated my from the world. You never let me out from under your watchful eye. When I finally learned that my life could be about me, and tried to tell you the same thing you got upset and tried to stop me.

You constantly told me I couldn't play with my Dad because he was tired. You made me feel like I couldn't bother him or turn to him for anything. You took that away from me with a few short words repeated over and over until the engraved themselves on my mind.

You spanked me, hard, for what felt like forever whenever I did something wrong, sometimes for reasons I didn't know or understand.

You abandoned me to the torture of middle school, to the bullying and ignorant teachers. You did nothing when I told you of my torture.

You cried and apologized and clung to me for comfort when I tried to talk to you about my feelings, in a family session with MY therapist. You wanted to "cure" my depression with vitamins and sunshine. You wanted a quick fix even though you claimed otherwise.

You came to my school's music night to hear me sing, but couldn't shut up about those three damn guitarists. Not a single word about my own performance.

You promised me you'd come to watch me perform at the auction, but went to the One of a Kind show instead, not for a moment thinking that I was one of a kind.

You made me feel like a Doll you dressed up and paraded around. You never told me I was beautiful. You never praised me to my face. You never told me you were proud.

Now, the words scrawled in the Mother's Day cards are pretty lies. Now, the words "I love you" sound false on my tongue. Now, I don't want your comfort. Now, I feel unsafe in my own home. Now I want to leave this house and get an apartment with my best friend. Now, I can't trust you.