I’m fed up! My mother is a naive woman whom men use and discard.
I write because I have no one else to confide in…
I’m 19, born and raised in Birmingham.
I don’t know who my father is.
My mother never spoke of him, and whenever I asked, she would simply respond coldly:
– He doesn’t exist. Forget about him.
I grew up without a father, without family, devoid of warmth and comfort.
I learned to be alone.
But most of all, I learned that I was always second to my mother.
She would forget about me for the sake of a man.
Each time a new man entered her life, I became invisible.
She would preen in front of the mirror, choose outfits, and spend her last pounds on perfumes and makeup.
I sat in my room, aware that today, I was no longer needed.
Then, after a few weeks or months, the outbursts would start.
She would cry, complain, expressing betrayal and disappointment, feeling used once more.
And I would sit beside her, listen, nod, and try to console her.
Yet, I knew it would all repeat itself in a couple of weeks.
She didn’t understand.
She couldn’t see how her actions were eroding my faith in relationships, family, and love.
From a young age, I grasped one thing—any man in her life would always take precedence over me.
I became a stranger in my own home.
Whenever she had a new “suitor,” the phone would ring ceaselessly.
And I realized—I had no place at home anymore.
I stopped believing her, ceased to feel anything for her except irritation.
I turned cold.
I could no longer listen to her complaints, couldn’t comfort her after each fresh failure.
She’s a grown woman but acts like a sulky girl.
And I…
I feel like an old man.
Tired of her tears, her empty hopes, her endless mistakes.
And you know what’s the worst part?
I don’t want a relationship.
I can’t even imagine trusting anyone.
I grew up in a home where love is a lie, betrayal, and pain.
I can’t bear to witness this.
Sometimes she comes home intoxicated.
Sometimes she brings home yet another “new man.”
I lie in another room, hearing their laughter.
And inside, I feel a tightness of disgust.
I feel sick.
I don’t want to hear that.
I don’t want to live like this.
But I have no choice.
My mother doesn’t think about how I feel.
Her only concern is herself.
The internet is my only escape.
Do you know what saves me?
Only the internet.
Here is the only place where I can express things I’d never say out loud.
I feel free only when I’m behind a screen.
But this isn’t living.
And maybe someday I’ll leave this house.
To stop hearing her.
To stop seeing her.
To avoid repeating her fate.
