You never cease to amaze me. Every time I start thinking you're getting better, you pull something new. And no matter how much I remind myself that you are not my responsibility, and I have no reason to feel guilty for not doing whatever you want, I still end up feeling shitty every time I can't oblige you. It's not fair.

Isn't it enough that I still speak to you after all the years that you beat me into a bloody pulp and robbed me of any self confidence I might have had? Never mind that when I tried to talk to you about that abuse when I became an adult, you started crying and told me I was cruel for bringing it up. I'm cruel? I'M CRUEL?!? You were the one who whipped me, a 5 year old girl, with wire hangers, slapped my face so many times that it swelled to an alarming size and had to be brought down with ice packs, kicked me in the stomach while I was lying on the floor pleading with you to stop. But, somehow, I'm the cruel one, for wanting you to tell me why. I'm cruel for thinking I deserved an explanation for all the years of torture I endured at your hands. Ah yes, that is the way you handle problems, isn't it? Blame everyone else, and run away from anyone who puts you on the spot or makes you accountable for your actions.

Would I also be cruel if I told you that I know what you told me about my father was a lie? He didn't hate me. He never wished I was a boy. He never said he wanted me to go to my room and leave him alone when he came home from work. That was all your doing, your web of lies, to be sure that he and I wouldn't have any time together. So I couldn't tell him what you did to me when he was gone. So you could have me all to yourself to scream at about him, and hit because you couldn't hit him. You stole my childhood from me, and you stole my relationship with my own father. Thank goodness he and I are able to spend time together now, and try to make up for some of those lost years when I thought he hated me, and he thought I hated him. If he hadn't finally left you, I may never have had the chance to know the truth.

But I forgave you. I decided to let the past be the past, and move forward, and still talk to you because you are my only mother. I finally got out from under you, and created a life for myself that is a complete opposite of the life I had in your house. I have tried to do everything exactly the way you wouldn't, and because of that, my world is now a beautiful place. I have a home with my incredible husband filled with love and laughter. There is never any screaming, no plates being thrown and smashed into walls. There is no smoking, no drinking, no bitter complaining. There is only happiness.

Your life is still miserable, and probably always will be, because you choose to make it so. You have tried to play the martyr for so long, and for a while there were even some who felt sorry for you. But the martyr act got old for everyone but you, and now you're panicking, looking for a new way to make people feel bad for you. It's all manipulation, and even though I know it, I still drive myself crazy wondering if I am just coldhearted when I don't run to your rescue. All my life I heard people say, "Poor Louise, married to that jerk." "Poor Louise, divorced and alone with no money" "Poor Louise, can't get a better paying job because she stayed home with Lisa all those years and lost her skills." "Poor Louise, her house is falling down around her, and she's helpless to stop it". I wanted to tell these people they were idiots for falling for your sob story. That my father wasn't a jerk, but a saint for putting up with your insanity for so long. That you had no money because you drank and smoked away all the alimony money my father always sent on time, so you were never able to pay the mortgage when it was due. That you could have gotten a better job if you wanted to, but were too lazy and needed a shitty job as a crutch to maintain the Poor Louise image. That staying home with me during my formative years instead of working was not as admirable as it sounds, because you spent those years making me afraid of my own shadow and terrified of human contact. That your house is falling down because you blew the money my uncles sent you for repairs.

But I couldn't say that, because I didn't want anyone to know. I was ashamed of you, and what you had done to me, and therefore I was ashamed of myself. I just watched you come up with new miseries to call your rapidly diminishing friends and moan about, and felt my stomach tense up in frustration. You have always been so pathetic, and only my father and I know just HOW pathetic. Pathetic not because you are helpless, but because you work so hard to appear helpless. Pathetic because you thrive on being pathetic.

So now, when I'm barely into my second year of marriage, you come to me with the most ridiculous proposition I have ever heard. Because you know we are saving for a house, and having a hard time of it, you decide to try and twist the situation for your benefit. You decide that I should let you sell your house, and use the profit as a down payment for a house that me and my husband can move into, and the bonus is that you get to move in with us! You need help getting out from under your mortgage, it would only be for a little while that you'd live with us, you would pay us rent and stay in your room all the time, we would never have to see you. Isn't that a great idea?

Hell no, that's not a great idea. There are a million logical reasons why your idea sucks, besides the obvious fact that I am not interested in subjecting myself to your mental hell now that the physical torture is no longer an option for you. But I know, for a fact, that when I tell you the logical reasons why your plan is no good for me, you will get angry. You will interrupt me, tell me I'm good for nothing and selfish, start crying and hang up. You will call what's left of your friends and tell them about your cruel daughter, the only child who you would do anything for, who turned her back on you in your time of need. You will tell them how you were willing to give up your house to help me get my own, and all you asked in return was to reside in one room for a few months, hidden like a dirty secret. You will again be Poor Louise, and this time it will be because I am an ungrateful child.

It's hard for me to be the bad guy. I've spent my whole life trying to please everyone. But I can't do this for you. I just can't. You are perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, but you are tired of being alone, and having no one but yourself to control. We both know that's why you made me the "great offer", and I refuse to let you take over my life just when I have managed to get it the way I want it. We are better off in separate houses, preferably in separate cities. Get a condo if a house is too much for you. Get a dog if you need a companion. Give me a call when the only thing you want from me is a nice chat, okay?

Until,