I am the worst, unimaginable kind.
The angry mother.
Walking a daily thin line, the thinnest ice I have found to exist, between compassion and love, and resentment and malice.
I am sorry, my son, that you were chosen to play the role of my child. You did not ask for it, and you certainly do not deserve it.
It is wholly my fault you even exist, and wholly mine that you should grow up with a woman who cannot overcome herself.
You were such a happy baby, I see your pictures always smiling and grinning with the most open eyes. I fear I will ruin you.
I fear, if I do not learn to satisfy this part of me that craves and craves, that I will never be what you deserve.
For the only thing I can do to not curse you,
Is to completely change.
Your father is a good man. But he too, I shall destroy.