Many times I have wondered how you became yourself. I don’t think it’s for me to know or understand. You weren’t a mother to me. You fed and clothed my siblings and I in between  prostituting and sexually abusing us. The child pornography you forced us to participate in was horrific.

 All of the good people who came through your body suffered. You wanted all of your seven children to suffer.

You beat me,  sexually abused me, and forced me to take laxatives. I haven’t heard all of what you did to my other siblings, but I’m sure it was equally nightmarish for them.

When you died on Mother’s day (how appropriate) I was grateful because you couldn’t abuse more children and the world was finally rid of you.

 The whole time I knew you, you were a liar. I remember when you tore up my favorite dress and beat me up. I also remember when I started fighting back, punch for punch, and you started saying you were going to get me locked up in a mental institution. Hey remember when I confronted you and you called me a crazy bitch?  When  I reported you to social services, you called me every name in the book, but I could tell you were scared.  Remember when you told me I would never escape you even after death? That was another lie.

The truth is, despite everything you did and/or tried to do, I am feeling better. My mind is clearer than ever and you are fading away into the past.

This is the last time I will ever write. I’m tired of you. You are too disgusting to think about. I need some love and beauty in my mind.

P.S. My siblings are good people I admire. You couldn’t destroy babies and children. You were extremely weak, but of course you always knew that.

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