Confrontation letter... thanks, JK *trigger*
Sick Puppy
Registrant
JK has inspired me to write my own confrontation letter. I have been thinking about this for a very long time. I spent the day writing it and I used the outline in Ken Singer's article.
This was very difficult for me to do but I feel relieved and proud of myself. I don't intend to send this to my mother anytime soon... right now, it's just for my own peace of mind. I'm not ready to actually confront her... but it helps me to do it in my head.
Here is the letter... sorry for the length.
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Naomi,
I am writing this letter to you so that I can tell you what I want to say about me, you, and what you did to me.
I will not call you Mother. You are only my mother by genetics. You did not care for me or nurture me or even take any positive hand in my upbringing. As far as I am concerned you are just an egg donor.
You tortured me when I was a child. It was no less than that. From the day I came home from the hospital I was a burden to you. I know this although I can't remember clearly that far back. My first memory is of the time you nearly drowned me by turning on the tub when I was inside it. I know that was an accident, but it goes to show how irresponsible of a parent you were.
I was just a little boy and I was no less precious than any other child. You beat me and hit me across rooms. You burned me with things. You made me eat things I was allergic to. You threw me down the stairs and locked me in tiny spaces. You closed me into the dryer and threatened to turn it on. You abused me physically in every way possible and you made me fear my own home. I had to make excuses for my injuries and I was filled with shame.
You told me I was bad, dirty, stupid, and should have been aborted. You beat me when I did badly in school although I had learning disabilities because of your drug use while you were pregnant with me. You made me stand in the shower with the water on cold and repeat the horrible things you said about me. You beat me with cutting boards and blunt objects when I wet the bed or spilled a glass of water. These are things a child does. A child is not as coordinated or emotionally mature as an adult!
As if that was not enough, you prostituted me. You started this when I was three and could not even talk yet. I have not forgotten. You taught me how to suck cock so that I could make you money. You told the men not to fuck me because I was too small and might die, but they fucked me anyway. I know you only cared that I would die because Social Services would get on your case. When I was big enough (five???) you stopped telling them not to fuck me.
Do you remember how small I was? I'm still small, because I was born premature. At five I was still the size of a three or four year old. This was "big enough" to be fucked. I would bleed and you would wash out my pajamas and tell me never to tell anyone why we washed them. You yelled at me when I stained the bedcovers with blood. I could not help when I bled. It was your fault I bled. I have scar tissue there.
You were not there during most of the sessions. You didn't see what they did to me, although I am sure you imagined it well. I was hurt in every way possible. I was raped, molested and made to do horrible things. You knew this and you allowed it. You sometimes came in and took photos or videos which you presumably sold. You told me how to act and how to pose; when to pretend I liked it, and when to cry.
And then there was the worst thing you did. You had incest with me. I am your very own son and you molested me and had sex with me. I was frightened. I was a little child and you were not protective of me; you victimized me. You made me give you oral sex when I was too young to successfully complete intercourse, and you made me use my hands on you. Conversely, you did the same to me. I remember this very clearly and I will never forget. Even when you were menstruating you still made me do this. When I was old enough you took advantage of the fact that I was going through puberty and used me for actual intercourse. This confused me emotionally and sexually and still has lasting effects on me. You also didn't stop Ray from abusing me even though I am sure you knew what he did. I feel that you were trying to abuse me together with him, and perhaps you did, because my memories of that period are still fuzzy. Now that Ray is dead it is easier to recall.
In simple words that is what you did to me. I must tell you so that you understand how I perceive it and so that you may see the true extent of your actions. This is what happened. Now that I am grown and no longer in an abusive situation, I am physically detached from the abuse, but emotionally I am still trapped within it. Because of what you did to my mind when it was still developing, I can't function like other people do. My emotional age is very low. It will take me a lot of work to mature myself. I can't function well on my own and as such I have to live with Steve and be a burden to him. When left to my own devices I victimize myself. Because of my trauma I sunk into drugs and self-harm. I struggle with my sexuality and I can't trust women. In my mind, every woman is like you, and wants to hurt me and manipulate me. I fear that my experiences with you have turned me off women when I would normally be heterosexual. I can't determine my sexual orientation although I am in a relationship with a man right now. This is because of the things you did to me when I was still developing a concept of myself.
I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and regularly suffer from nightmares and flashbacks in which you often star. I have a constant sense of guilt upon me and I generally feel the need to punish myself for it. I take up self-defeating attitudes. I have to rely on childish methods of self-comfort such as thumb-sucking, rocking back and forth, or hugging a stuffed animal. I still wet the bed sometimes. On some occasions I regress entirely and have the emotions and mentality of a six-year-old child.
My teenage years, after I went to live with Dad, were very conflicted and painful. I had just come out of an incestuous household. I prostituted myself on the streets and put myself in a lot of dangerous situations. I tried to get myself raped again, and in some cases it worked. I did not know a life without abuse and so I felt confused and lost without it. When Dad killed himself (which I am sure had something to do with you; you abused him too, in the context of your marriage) I had a breakdown and couldn't function. I torched a house and went to prison. You say this is because I am a degenerate and have no respect for others. I don't know how much of that is true but the source of the problem is the person who abused me in the first place. In prison I was sexually assaulted, violently and repeatedly, and while I cannot blame you for this I would like you to know what sort of life I have led because of the effects of my abuse. My rapes in prison have severely impaired my ability to function on any level and I have debilitating PTSD.
I do not love you. I feel like a bad person for saying that, but it's true. I never loved you. On some level I feel an attachment to you, because I suppose that someone can never entirely detach themselves from a person they lived inside of for nine months (or, in my case, six) but I have never loved a woman in any sense of the word. I expect this is your fault. You did not put forth the effort to bond with me as most mothers do with their children; you ignored me entirely for much of my childhood save for the times when you beat me or raped me. It was Dad who fed me when I was too young to feed myself. It was Dad who comforted me when I cried, who changed my diapers, who read me bedtime stories, who held me when I had a bad dream at night. Dad never hurt me and I loved him with all my heart. I can't say the same of you.
When I was an adolescent and a teenager I was able to have sex with you because I could get an erection in your presence. In some instances I reached orgasm. This is a physiological response to sexual stimulation. IT DOES NOT MEAN I LIKED IT. You can't use that against me. I was a child, a scared and confused child being manipulated and abused by the very woman who was supposed to protect him from the evils of the world. Instead, you were the evil.
Naomi (and this is what I will call you), you failed me as a mother. You failed me as a protector. You failed Dad as a wife, and you failed Jenna as a mother and a friend. I don't want to acknowledge you as part of my family. My family are people I hold dear and you are not one of them. When you get out of prison I will be living in New Mexico. That is a place where you can't come to my house at any hour and try to fondle me. That's a place where you can't call me every morning and ridicule me unless you want to rack up your long distance bills. I am distancing myself from you. You will not be a part of my life any longer, because I have control over my life now, and I don't want you in it. You did things to an innocent child that I can never forgive, and that child cannot forgive you either; he's hidden too deep inside of me to speak. He's scared, sad, lonely and confused. I have to do my best to comfort him and help him grow. I have to raise myself because you didn't.
It is not out of anger or spite that I ask you not to communicate with me anymore. I don't harbor any anger. I am simply taking back control of my life; something which belonged to me in the first place.
Your respectfully estranged son,
Joshua
This was very difficult for me to do but I feel relieved and proud of myself. I don't intend to send this to my mother anytime soon... right now, it's just for my own peace of mind. I'm not ready to actually confront her... but it helps me to do it in my head.
Here is the letter... sorry for the length.
------------
Naomi,
I am writing this letter to you so that I can tell you what I want to say about me, you, and what you did to me.
I will not call you Mother. You are only my mother by genetics. You did not care for me or nurture me or even take any positive hand in my upbringing. As far as I am concerned you are just an egg donor.
You tortured me when I was a child. It was no less than that. From the day I came home from the hospital I was a burden to you. I know this although I can't remember clearly that far back. My first memory is of the time you nearly drowned me by turning on the tub when I was inside it. I know that was an accident, but it goes to show how irresponsible of a parent you were.
I was just a little boy and I was no less precious than any other child. You beat me and hit me across rooms. You burned me with things. You made me eat things I was allergic to. You threw me down the stairs and locked me in tiny spaces. You closed me into the dryer and threatened to turn it on. You abused me physically in every way possible and you made me fear my own home. I had to make excuses for my injuries and I was filled with shame.
You told me I was bad, dirty, stupid, and should have been aborted. You beat me when I did badly in school although I had learning disabilities because of your drug use while you were pregnant with me. You made me stand in the shower with the water on cold and repeat the horrible things you said about me. You beat me with cutting boards and blunt objects when I wet the bed or spilled a glass of water. These are things a child does. A child is not as coordinated or emotionally mature as an adult!
As if that was not enough, you prostituted me. You started this when I was three and could not even talk yet. I have not forgotten. You taught me how to suck cock so that I could make you money. You told the men not to fuck me because I was too small and might die, but they fucked me anyway. I know you only cared that I would die because Social Services would get on your case. When I was big enough (five???) you stopped telling them not to fuck me.
Do you remember how small I was? I'm still small, because I was born premature. At five I was still the size of a three or four year old. This was "big enough" to be fucked. I would bleed and you would wash out my pajamas and tell me never to tell anyone why we washed them. You yelled at me when I stained the bedcovers with blood. I could not help when I bled. It was your fault I bled. I have scar tissue there.
You were not there during most of the sessions. You didn't see what they did to me, although I am sure you imagined it well. I was hurt in every way possible. I was raped, molested and made to do horrible things. You knew this and you allowed it. You sometimes came in and took photos or videos which you presumably sold. You told me how to act and how to pose; when to pretend I liked it, and when to cry.
And then there was the worst thing you did. You had incest with me. I am your very own son and you molested me and had sex with me. I was frightened. I was a little child and you were not protective of me; you victimized me. You made me give you oral sex when I was too young to successfully complete intercourse, and you made me use my hands on you. Conversely, you did the same to me. I remember this very clearly and I will never forget. Even when you were menstruating you still made me do this. When I was old enough you took advantage of the fact that I was going through puberty and used me for actual intercourse. This confused me emotionally and sexually and still has lasting effects on me. You also didn't stop Ray from abusing me even though I am sure you knew what he did. I feel that you were trying to abuse me together with him, and perhaps you did, because my memories of that period are still fuzzy. Now that Ray is dead it is easier to recall.
In simple words that is what you did to me. I must tell you so that you understand how I perceive it and so that you may see the true extent of your actions. This is what happened. Now that I am grown and no longer in an abusive situation, I am physically detached from the abuse, but emotionally I am still trapped within it. Because of what you did to my mind when it was still developing, I can't function like other people do. My emotional age is very low. It will take me a lot of work to mature myself. I can't function well on my own and as such I have to live with Steve and be a burden to him. When left to my own devices I victimize myself. Because of my trauma I sunk into drugs and self-harm. I struggle with my sexuality and I can't trust women. In my mind, every woman is like you, and wants to hurt me and manipulate me. I fear that my experiences with you have turned me off women when I would normally be heterosexual. I can't determine my sexual orientation although I am in a relationship with a man right now. This is because of the things you did to me when I was still developing a concept of myself.
I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and regularly suffer from nightmares and flashbacks in which you often star. I have a constant sense of guilt upon me and I generally feel the need to punish myself for it. I take up self-defeating attitudes. I have to rely on childish methods of self-comfort such as thumb-sucking, rocking back and forth, or hugging a stuffed animal. I still wet the bed sometimes. On some occasions I regress entirely and have the emotions and mentality of a six-year-old child.
My teenage years, after I went to live with Dad, were very conflicted and painful. I had just come out of an incestuous household. I prostituted myself on the streets and put myself in a lot of dangerous situations. I tried to get myself raped again, and in some cases it worked. I did not know a life without abuse and so I felt confused and lost without it. When Dad killed himself (which I am sure had something to do with you; you abused him too, in the context of your marriage) I had a breakdown and couldn't function. I torched a house and went to prison. You say this is because I am a degenerate and have no respect for others. I don't know how much of that is true but the source of the problem is the person who abused me in the first place. In prison I was sexually assaulted, violently and repeatedly, and while I cannot blame you for this I would like you to know what sort of life I have led because of the effects of my abuse. My rapes in prison have severely impaired my ability to function on any level and I have debilitating PTSD.
I do not love you. I feel like a bad person for saying that, but it's true. I never loved you. On some level I feel an attachment to you, because I suppose that someone can never entirely detach themselves from a person they lived inside of for nine months (or, in my case, six) but I have never loved a woman in any sense of the word. I expect this is your fault. You did not put forth the effort to bond with me as most mothers do with their children; you ignored me entirely for much of my childhood save for the times when you beat me or raped me. It was Dad who fed me when I was too young to feed myself. It was Dad who comforted me when I cried, who changed my diapers, who read me bedtime stories, who held me when I had a bad dream at night. Dad never hurt me and I loved him with all my heart. I can't say the same of you.
When I was an adolescent and a teenager I was able to have sex with you because I could get an erection in your presence. In some instances I reached orgasm. This is a physiological response to sexual stimulation. IT DOES NOT MEAN I LIKED IT. You can't use that against me. I was a child, a scared and confused child being manipulated and abused by the very woman who was supposed to protect him from the evils of the world. Instead, you were the evil.
Naomi (and this is what I will call you), you failed me as a mother. You failed me as a protector. You failed Dad as a wife, and you failed Jenna as a mother and a friend. I don't want to acknowledge you as part of my family. My family are people I hold dear and you are not one of them. When you get out of prison I will be living in New Mexico. That is a place where you can't come to my house at any hour and try to fondle me. That's a place where you can't call me every morning and ridicule me unless you want to rack up your long distance bills. I am distancing myself from you. You will not be a part of my life any longer, because I have control over my life now, and I don't want you in it. You did things to an innocent child that I can never forgive, and that child cannot forgive you either; he's hidden too deep inside of me to speak. He's scared, sad, lonely and confused. I have to do my best to comfort him and help him grow. I have to raise myself because you didn't.
It is not out of anger or spite that I ask you not to communicate with me anymore. I don't harbor any anger. I am simply taking back control of my life; something which belonged to me in the first place.
Your respectfully estranged son,
Joshua
