In this series of posts. I am to get personal. It is a series of letters to people in my life going from past to present, from all aspects, thanking the people for the impact they’ve had on my life. Some, most, if not all of these people have deep emotional pain attached to them. And I feel I need to express that pain and gratitude somehow. Believe it or not, this is the most comfortable place for me to do that. Sorry for the series of emotional posts. They are my pain, they are my suffering. Hopefully through these I might be able to muster up the courage to have the conversations with these people to tell them how they have helped, or hurt me throughout the years. But I don’t know Mom, First and foremost. I’ve spent the greater part of my teen/adolescent years terrified of you. Ever since I’ve gotten the eyes that puberty gives all men and women. There I’m had been one constant source of fear. Your wrath. It’s made it difficult for me to come to you about girls, or sexual issues. I don’t know if the relationship between mother and son is supposed to be that way, but I know it has been lacking between us. I am sorry. I have been afraid to come to you over many issues because I am scared of how you will react. When I was fifteen, you threatened to end my life outside of this house over a teenage crush. I know the intent was to crush those emotions, but what you did was crush my spirit. Ever since I’ve had problems talking to people who I am close too about my self. I fear it. I didn’t tell you about the girl of 2017 because I thought you would have made me quit my job. Turns out that I decided that she was bad for me on my own accord, you took every opportunity to praise someone else for my decision and found ways to talk down about me to your and my own friends. That hurt me more. It took me a year and a half to set the record straight. The pain from that decision and your reaction still lingers. I cannot count the times I’ve been tempted to lie to you to avoid your wrath. You will never know what it took me to tell you that C. Exists. It took me over three weeks of agony to muster a short conversation. When you asked me why I told dad before you, I didn’t have a good answer other than fear. Sorry for not telling you outright why I didn’t tell you first. You’ve threatened to kick me out of the house more times than I cared to count because we had arguments. You did one time. But dad stopped you. You have damaged my ability to build trusting relationships that I feel safe in. The contempt you threw at me hurts. And I know that I have failed to end the cycle of contempt. But, you are still my mother. Those early years, before my older brothers turned on me are cherished memories that I don’t want to recall for the fear that I will tarnish them. And all the pain and suffering you have put me through has built a toughness into me that can only come from fear. I thank you for that. I wish I could see the light in those times, but the darkness of the despair still holds me captive. Maybe in the future I can look back on that painful decade and see the beauty in the depths.