Angry

When I think of my mother, I no longer feel sad. I don’t wonder all the time if I made the right choice.

I feel angry. I feel angry every time I wonder what I did to deserve the abuse.

I feel angry that she took my mother away.

I know that sounds crazy. My mother, took my mother away.

I grew up looking up to her.

I was proud to have such a strong female role model. Someone that cared, that stood by me. That understood the frustrations I was having.

And then to have that come crashing down. Over some man.

A man who didn’t love her.

Who couldn’t give two fucks about her.

But her daughter. Her daughter that needed her.

She just pushed away.

Started screaming at.

Starting telling her she deserved the abuse.

She deserved being called a slut, cunt, whore, bitch.

That if she told anyone, she’d be taken away and never see her brother again.

How can a mother do that to her daughter?

World, I am angry. But I am no longer angry at myself. Because now I know I did nothing wrong.