A letter I will never deliver, but… needed to get out of my system somehow.
I am hurting, and you don’t care. You are the perpetrator, and… you don’t care.
When I was growing up, and even as an adult before dad passed away, I saw you as warm and caring. I saw you as a wonderful and supportive mother. I was blind to, and amused by, your frivolous antics and society focused views. Your constant desire to have us look our best and present at our best was simply a part of your motherly charms.
And then father died, and you seemed to drop the charade that I didn’t even realize you were performing. You became clear about your disgust concerning my orientation, where before you had seemed supportive in contrast to father’s constant berating. You stopped trying to conceal your shallow and self-centered interests and goals behind a motherly façade.
Perhaps we are at fault for perpetuating your behavior. After all, in our home your children’s birthdays are not celebrated. Instead, those birthdays are another “Mother’s Day” with the focus upon you and the life you have given to us. Father left decisions up to you, because he was focused upon appearances as well, and you made certain he was pleased with how others viewed our family, even after I emancipated from it in my teens.
I now realize that the pagan parenting mentor you sought out when we were children wasn’t because you wanted to find a better path to integrate your faith into your children’s lives… but because you wanted to be less involved, and you treated Z like a nanny, handing us over to her so that you could wash your hands of the heavy lifting. I now realize that it was Z that raised me through that second half of my childhood, and Z that taught me about values, ethics, and morals… whereas what you taught me was about social mores, with a heavy stress on the “social” part of that equation.
I have realized very clearly of late that our value to you is based upon what we can do for you. The dance classes, the etiquette lessons, the constant pressure to look “presentable” and “perfect” whenever we might be seen by others either outside the home or within it. It wasn’t for our benefit as you so very carefully had us believe. We were rare and beautiful trinkets to be shown off and admired by all. A set of beautiful, exotic looking twins that were both loyal and well mannered no matter the occasion of situation. A social stepping stone to elevate you above others.
But we are no longer children, mother. We are not pawns in your game of life to be positioned at your whim. L and I are not toys to strategically maneuver into place for your social or economical benefit.
Stop trying to show us off to your cocktail party friends, country club acquaintances, and foundation associates. Stop pressuring L to move back in with you so she will be more available to be manipulated and used to your benefit whenever you desire to do so.
And for fuck sake, STOP trying to pressure and blackmail me into going on dates with “the eligibles” of your circle in the hopes for a “good match”. A match that would only be good for you and you alone. I’m with someone. I have been with him for nearly twelve years. I’m not going to leave him (or betray him) just because he’s of no use to you.
Honestly? I don’t even know why you’re trying. After the way you reacted when I was attacked and obtained my facial scar, I was sure this shit was over where I was concerned.
The next time you spring another “date” on me, I will make such an embarrassment out of you that you won’t be able to show your face among your circle again without being snickered at and mocked. Do not give out my phone number. Do not send people to my door. I’ve had enough. (This part I have already clearly communicated to you, and I really hope that you were listening.)
I love you. Despite your flaws and your selfishness. I love you, and I always will.
But it’s time to stop.
Your wayward son,