Dear Mother,
Are you ashamed of what you created? Are you angry at the similarities you see? Are you infuriated by each imperfection? Do I make you sick?
I don't understand what you want from me. I'm giving my best, you say I'm not. You say you know me when really you have not the clue anymore. My feelings are sacrificial to you, they are invalid and meaningless. You are nonchalant to my deteriorating self esteem. It does not phase you at all.
You wonder why I used to be so willing to give this up. I wondered the same lately. All until you reminded me what it's like to be alone with you. I couldn't be more urgent to get out.