I remember pretending to sleep as you repeatedly hit me on the back because you had too much to drink, and I remember that next morning you ran out into the street trying to kill yourself right in front of me. I was 8.
I remember you getting drunk at my sisters 16th birthday party and I had to sit in your bedroom and keep you calm so you wouldn’t ruin her day. I was 9.
I remember you getting beat to hell by your new boyfriend and finding out he sexually assaulted his teen aged daughter and still forcing me to spend time with him. I was 10.
I remember the dread I felt every time my dad told me I needed to spend more time with you. Because spending time with you meant spending time with the shit you bought me as you drank yourself to near death in the corner. I was 11.
And I remember when I was 18 and you told me “the ball is in your court” and that you shouldn’t have to make an effort to see me. That I should reach out to you.
Please mom give me one good reason why I would ever want to see you again.
Fuck you too.