The letter you always wanted to write
Occasionally, I let my mind torture me. I wonder what it must be like to have any level of autonomy, any sense of agency. You have never let me know a world that did not revolve around you, although you will deny this and say you willingly sacrificed your life so it would revolve around me, for that is what a real mother does, and that you are the only real, proper mother in the world.
There are problems you refuse to see. I cannot leave the room for five minutes without you calling for me. You see it as a token of your love – if I love you, I will rush back to you. I joke that I should wear a cat’s bell around my neck; I think it would delight you if I did. When I go to work, instead of using the time for yourself, you sit clock-watching until I depart my dead-end job and then call me, talking until I walk in our door. You would prefer it if I could work from home so I would never be out of your sight. I would be safe … and still supporting you as a dutiful daughter does.
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