(My counselor suggested I write a letter to my mom about how I felt she treated me the other week. This is the 2nd, non-angry letter. I may or may not send it. Update: I wrote a third letter that’s less angry.)
It’s hard to know where to begin, so I’ll start with what comes to me first.
I’m hurt and I’m angry.
I’m hurt that you said I’m a freak, will end up friendless, and will bring shame and ridicule to my family just for being who I am.
Your piling on with “being too smart for [my] own good” landed as: “for as smart as you are, you sure are an idiot about some things,” and left me smarting. (Pun intended in a sad, ironic way.)
I’m angry that of all the ways you could have expressed yourself and your feelings about me, you approached me with anger and ignorance instead of compassion and a desire to learn about and understand my condition.
The part of your behavior that weighs the heaviest on me is that I’m not surprised. The turning away of you from the reality of me has been a recurrent pattern throughout my life when I’ve shared my feelings, desires, and my life plans. That just makes me sad.
I’m astounded that you treated me the way you did, and what I fear is that it fully reveals what you really think of me: a social skills idiot that makes you uncomfortable because I’m a freak.
I don’t want our relationship to only be tolerance of one another, but a loving, mutually supportive one.
What I’m going through is real, and I need support, not rejection, ridicule, and scorn. If you are unwilling to offer that support, I don’t want to be around you.
I will facilitate you seeing your grandchildren as much as you would like, but do not expect me to spend much time with you.