Dear “Mother,”

You left dad and me when I was just eight years old. At first, you made it sound great. You said I’d have two houses and therefore I’d have two birthday parties, two sets of Christmas presents, and two of everything else. I was young and naïve then. I didn’t realize that you were actually bribing me with material goods and money, which is part of the reason why you left in the first place. Dad worked his butt off for you, but it was never enough; we were never enough.

As I grew older and came to this realization and many other similar ones, I started to see that you never cared about what was best for me. I still remember the first day you weren’t there for me. I was on the bus and you didn’t come out to meet me at the bus stop because you were passed out on the couch. I still don’t know if you were just tired, or if it was something else that affected this, but at the time, I had no idea that this was only the first time you wouldn't be there for me.

I was the one who had to tell you to put out the fire which was always lit at the end of your cigarette. I remember how I always wanted to talk, but you would just ignore me or go into another room. I remember the feeling in the pit of my stomach when I found out that drinking and smoking were not the only substances you had abused. These are the things which mothers should be teaching their daughters not to do while raising them in this world; it shouldn’t be the other way around.

I never knew how to pick out the right size bras, how to talk to boys, or how to apply makeup because you never taught me any of the lessons that a mother is supposed to teach to her daughter. You never came to any of my plays, swim team meets, or even my high school graduation. I remember each time preparing myself for the worst, but always holding a slight bit of hope in the back of my heart, that maybe this time, it would be different. I was always wrong, though. I knew your addiction was more important to you when you missed my play, yet I still forgave you and asked to visit you the next day, but you were too hungover from the night before and you didn’t want to see me, your daughter, despite it being mother’s day.

I’m still recovering from the difficulty of trusting others because of you. I still worry that the people who I love and care about could leave me at any second like you did. But I held the burdens of both you and myself for too long, and now I have to focus on what I need and what’s best for my mental state. You made me question my self-worth for so many years, but now that I’m in college and I’m following my passions and dreams in life, I see that not even my own mother can determine my self-worth and value. Only I can determine something as important and special as that.

The truth is, I’m not sure if I will ever be able to refer to you as my “mom” again. I will always be hurt that you’ve chosen addiction over being a mother or having any kind of relationship with me, your daughter. But I forgive you and I empathize with you. I know what it’s like to be depressed, and it’s not an easy obstacle to overcome. I need you to know that I care about you as a human being and I see that you’re hurting. I hope someday you too can learn to channel your depression into positivity like I have with my own life. I truly hope that you get better and that we can have a chance to start this relationship again. But until then, I’m sorry that you chose to be weak, but I’m going to choose to be strong.

Sincerely,

Your Daughter