i just found the card my mother wrote...the wedding is on october
26th...she says she's going to come and fetch me from uni so that i
am there...well here's some news for you, i don't want to go, i
don't want to be at your fucking wedding, bitch.
i don't want to stand there and pretend to be happy.
i don't want to celebrate what ruined my life.
you may well be happy and settled, you may well have a new
life...but what about me? what about that poor little girl who you
abandoned, who you just left behind?
you have never once asked me what it is like to be me...what i feel,
think, like, dislike, not once in all my years. you used to tell me
you loved me, but words are one thing and actions are another. i was
hurting and i grasped onto those words, i told myself over and over
that one day you would say them and mean them, that one day i would
do what it took for you to really love me.
i did my piano practice every day so that you wouldn't be cross. i
was a tiny girl and i was getting up at 5 in the morning to practise
because if i wasn't good enough you would hate me. you told me
stories of a teacher rapping pupils' knuckles if just one note was
wrong, you instilled more fear than i could ever imagine into me.
i did my violin practice too, because that was what you wanted me to
do...you used to threaten that if i didn't work harder then richard
would see what a failure i really was and would give up on me...now
i know that the only reason you wanted me to do it was because it
was a way you had contact with HIM.
you made me go to youth orchestra every friday night, i was 7 and
hated going, yet you still made me go, told me that if i didn't i
was wasting everyone's time and money, and that if i didn't go what
was the point in me playing the violin ?? you knew i hated it, you
knew that the tutors there made me cry, made me feel so belittled
and inferior and a piece of shit. but that didn't matter to you,
because anything that would make me appear better in richard's eyes
might make him look more favourably on you. i'm not as fucking
stupid as you think i am.
i know why you did it, i know full well now, because you are a
failed musician...this is what you fail to tell people isn't it?
that you failed, that you didn't make it to music school...instead
you projected it onto me, pushed me and pushed me and made me feel
so useless and worthless. you used me...i was nothing more than a
puppet to you.
you separated me from all of the other kids at school...you
used to tell me how different i was from the others, how i should
never do the things they liked doing. you wouldn't let me listen to
the music they were all talking about, you wouldn't let me have a
pair of jeans, you seemed to go out of your way to make me so goddamn
different. you did everything in your power to isolate me - why?
your actions were the reason i was bullied.
my successes were what you craved, yet you had a way of making me
feel that they were never good enough, however hard i tried. i
achieved distinctions in every music exam, but then loathed and
harmed myself because the exact mark wasn't high enough. at the age
of 7 or so, i had a reading and spelling age of 15, and i felt i was
thick. you made me that chart so i could write down every minute
that i had practised...no rewards though, just punishment if it
wasn't enough. i was so little, for fuck's sake, you were expecting
ridiculous acheivements from a tiny child.
you used me. i was just a way for you to feel better about yourself.
i was a way for you to get to richard, i was the way for you to have
your affair, i was your EXCUSE.
i don't recall any happy times, no birthdays, no holidays, nothing.
i recall being laughed at and ridiculed; i recall you standing on
the landing threatening to kill my daddy or yourself, eyes bulging,
face haggard; i recall the knives; i recall the tears, the bitching,
the manipulation, the day you abandoned me....jeez, thanks for the
memories. thanks for such a happy and carefree childhood.
i am sorry i am such a disappointment. i apologise that i am not as
pretty as katie, as thin as natalie, as talented as sara, as funny
as rachael. i am sorry too that i brokedown and could no longer live
up to the image you had created for me, i have failed, i know it all
too well. who wants a daughter with mental illness?...a fucked up
personality, eating disorder, depression?...not you, that's for
you don't really want me at the wedding. my non-attendance would be
doing us both a favour. i won't have to pretend i am happy for you,
won't have to bear witness to the certification of what you did to
me. and it would be saving you the inconvenience of the shame you
feel for me.
but you know, i don't mind. you go ahead. rip my heart straight out
of my chest...it doesn't matter, i don't feel the pain anymore.
please answer me one thing though...
on the 26th may 1984, you gave birth to me, ruth emily, 7lbs 3
oz...just tell me, how could you grow to hurt that tiny little girl
you held in your arms?