Motherless Child
Another letter that won’t make it to you.
As I write this I feel at odds with myself. I am healing but yet I am still feeling the need to write what I don't feel can be said face-to-face. This is where our journey ends. There is a little girl in me that needed the Mother you aren’t and will never be. Letting go is healing. I understand now that what you have to offer cannot heal or fulfill me. There will always be something within you more important than me, if I permit. This is why our journey must end here. I have to make the choice between you and the inner child you caged in your fears. My life force has never been mine to love and honor. I willing gave away my power believing that someday you would see me as worthy of love and thus finally validate my existence.
I couldn't see how you existed only within framework pain and that is all you ever had to offer me. I needed to hate you. I wanted to be angry, bitter, and vengeful toward you. I thought it was you held the power over my right to exist and you let me believe the lie. As long as I willing to believe the lie, I was spared but not safe with you. I often assumed I was deserving of your wrath, your anger, the hatred toward me that motivated you to abuse the sacred mother-child bond of trust you so often violated. Anything, to alleviate the unshakeable feeling of existing to be tormented.
I didn't see the invisible ink you used to imprint on me since birth. The shadows of imprints hidden in the depths of my being. It is a deep uprooting, ungrounded pain that has allowed for you to exploit my purity and ignore my anguish. It was selfishness because no one ever gave you permission to be. I could not protest. I could not opt out. I had to see this through. You needed to relieve yourself of your suffering. I guess as long as you could potentially be free my entrapment really did not matter. I am not sure if you are even capable of regret. After all, you behave as if my wounds healing are devastating you. As if I am cutting you off from your life force not the one you gave birth to and siphoned for personal gain. Interesting observation for me to make huh? Closing the open wounds and sealing the scars is somehow not very enjoyable for you. I am not responsible for how your pain aches after I refuse to feel it for you.
Your pain is too much for one person to bare. I know that now. I felt how pain corrupts everything it touches and I don't want to live like this anymore. The weight of all you carry can consume small children and drown divine light. It castrates sacred bonds and separates spirit from matter. I allowed the depth of my wounds to define my power. When it was really your powerlessness that lead you to dig so deep and so mercilessness into a divine container that you found yourself. You ran from your pain and buried yourself in my wounds to escape. And now I have to tell you. There is no room for you here anymore. This sacred space deserves to be filled with my love not your pain. This is my home, my sacredness, my connection to life. Your existence within the corridors of mind casted shadows over my alter. Shadows that allowed for me to fragment them out of my own consciousness. I have found you burring my things in places that allowed you to put them on display for your admirers who look at me as if I am lucky that you dug up and preserved what I never had any intention on throwing away.
The parts of me you held captive for my own good but sought to replace what you lost long before me. I will write this letter every year until the words run out. Maybe this is the last letter, the last knot untied, the last attempt at making sense of the senseless.