Mom,
You called my phone and left a message talking about a scene in a movie reminded you of when you used to bathe me when I was a baby. I could hear the tears in your voice and you rambled on, saying it was weird...because you are just realizing that you still think of me as a little girl when clearly I am not a little girl anymore and you think that that is what the problem is. And I cried. I loved you purely in that moment, and I cried so hard my lungs hurt, because that is mostly what our problem is.
Yes, mostly.
The main problem is you thinking of me as a little girl NOW...not when I needed you to think of me as your little girl. When was I ever really young and free, momma? Do you even know about how my childhood was robbed from me and your indifference just made the suffering worse? I have been making sacrifices and compromises since I was 8 years old, and you never saw it. None of that matters. You still dwell on your sacrifices and delusions that you were a good mother to me while I was growing up.
And you know, we will never talk about any of it. Your messege will eventually be deleted and when we speak, the other is never really listening, so nothing will ever change.
We will just keep pushing the same fucking rock up the same hill till we die.
I wish one of us was brave enough to just walk away...or strong enough to break the rock so we could come together.
Pushing,
Little Girl