Mary and Howard
By: Gabriella Balcom
People might say I should refer to you as Mom and Dad and start this with the word "Dear," but I can't. That would be a lie.You never treated me as if I were dear to you. Or like I even mattered.
I was sixteen when I left, and I've learned a lot since then. Getting on my feet took time, but being around other people showed me there aregood ones, after all. I learned what decent parents are like and that some families really can be happy. I've done a lot of reading and studying, and I even saw a counselor for awhile. I was embarassed at first, but it was the right thing to do. It took me a long time to feel good about myself, but the therapy helped.
I'm not ready to see you yet. I may never be. If I saw you now, I might burst into tears and beg you to tell me why you never loved me. Or I might start screaming at you and tell you what I've realized — you're just awful people. Manipulative. Vicious. Unfeeling. The word 'sadist' fits, too. That might be the best way to describe you.
You weren't satisfied by merely calling me an idiot and telling me I was worthless. That I'd never amount to anything. Oh, no. Not you two. You were committed to either proving it or making it happen. All the As I made in school — you ignored them. The year my collarbone broke, my Athetics teacher said even if I couldn't play in the basketball games, I'd get credit for showing up. But you wouldn't take me, and you said the D I got that semester was only given out of pity. You said I should've gotten an F.
I wonder if you remember History. Coach Donnell gave me a C. You saw my grades first, Howard, and you looked so pleased, like you'd finally found tangible proof that I was an idiot. Mary, you smiled when you found out. But the worst part of it was that you knew exactly why I got that C. An assigned essay was the biggest part of my grade, but that's hard to turn in when the woman calling herself your mother throws that essay into the fire. When I told Coach it'd been destroyed accidentally— how could I tell him my own mother did it — you claimed I'd never written a paper. And of course, Howard, you followed that up by telling the man not to give me any extra time to make it up. I had the top grade in the class before that happened.
I can't even count the number of times you two pulled toxic, underhanded stunts like that. And that wasn't even the worst of it.
Tell me — I really want to know — why did you have a child if you were only going to hate me? What did I do to make you despise me? To make you want to hurt me? To make you want me to feel like I was a nothing? I shudder to imagine how you would've treated another child if you'd had one.
From as far back as I can remember, you were physically abusive. But no matter how much I rack my brain, I can't remember having done anything to deserve it. No infant or toddler deserves to be slapped for accidents in their diapers. No child deserves the belt for one time out of a hundred that they didn't keep their room perfectly clean. I did the dishes when you told me to. I vacuumed the house. I washed and folded the laundry when I was big enough to understand how to and do it right. I mowed the yard and washed your cars. The only thing that makes sense now is that you just enjoyed torturing me.
Nothing I did was good enough for you. Not the awards, not the straight-A grades, not even leading the Honor Roll. All I got from you were your fists and verbal abuse.
I wasn'ta piece of crap. I wasn'tan idiot. I wasn'ta retard. I wasa baby, and a little kid, and a teenager. I wasa decent person. No, I was an incredible person who deserved to be treated well. I still am.
It's taken me two decades to get to where I am now. I've fought my entire life for my self-esteem. Well, I have it now and you'll never touch it again. I'm Dr. Susan Todd now. A psychologist. I help people and I'm proud of what I've become without your help. Or maybe your vicious hatred aimed me in this direction. Regardless, I don't want you in my life. I've received your cards and letters over the past several years, and you've begged me to contact you. But I don't want to. I don't care if that hurts you or if you don't understand. I hadn't planned to write you, but I started to address confronting the past with some of my clients, and realized it was something I also needed to do.
I'm happily married to a good, loving man, and we have three wonderful children. You two will never see them. You'll never have the chance to hurt them the way you hurt me.
You could've chosen to be good people. Decent, loving parents. But you didn't. So live with the consequences now and leave me alone.
Susan, who used to be your daughter
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