The Reason I Let Go

Yesterday felt like sleep didn’t do much for me.

I spoke with Muffy again and learned more shocking details about her health. I can almost feel her pain from here before I even type it out, so I’ll keep it brief. The night before, her fever finally broke. About a month later she managed to get antibiotics. They helped, but unevenly — too much made her sick, too little barely touched the infection. Thankfully, she contacted the right person about her symptoms and received the correct dosage, along with updated nerve pain medication.

Overall, she was just happy — genuinely happy — to finally have a doctor and PA working together to improve her health.

I felt relieved for her, but also strangely battered. Maybe it was the energy drinks I’ve been relying on lately. Bad for my health, bad for my heart long term. My current favorite is the Super Passion Monster Energy drink, but I’ve realized I need to watch my intake more carefully. I don’t consent to habits that lower my quality of life, nor keeping them. Even if my job moves fast, I still need my body to keep up with me.

Later in the day, I noticed how deeply tired I felt. I slept in longer than usual. My off days are normally productive, but this time my body demanded rest. So I let myself rest.

While relaxing and blogging, I wandered through media online and noticed something strange — how many people romanticize paralysis demons, even imagining relationships with them. Entire games exist around that idea.

During that slow browsing, I came across something that hit closer to home: the game “No means nothing.”

It instantly reminded me of my family dynamic. My current reality.

For me, “no means nothing” has always been reality. I never formed an emotional reaction to the phrase because it simply described how life worked growing up. Boundaries didn’t exist for me — especially around my mother.

If I showed even the smallest boundary, I would be grabbed by the arm for challenging her authority. Self-respect was treated like disobedience. She hasn’t changed in years, just like she told me the countless times that she would.

I remember being four years old, telling her I wanted to grow up to be just like her. I told her I trusted her. She told me not to — one of the rare moments where she warned me to trust no one, including herself. At the time, I thought it was protection. Now I understand it differently.

To her, I was never really a person. I was something to keep close for use. An, object, a tool —  to have nearby.

“You’re my daughter, so of course I love you.”

The words repeated often, but they never matched reality.

I remember when she gave my abusive first love my phone number after I had successfully gone no contact with him for a full year straight. I had clearly told her we were no longer speaking while not telling her why. I suddenly got a call from an unknown number followed by her voice, then his. He wanted to sexually assault me but hadn't succeeded due to my strength before we separated and now he was looking for me under the guise of an apology. She ignored my boundary completely. She didn’t know his intentions, but the act itself told me enough — my wishes didn’t matter no matter what once more. Even when she did find out, it was somehow my fault still since she didn't want me to come across as a person who could do no wrong. Whatever that meant. Me reminding her what she had done, only made her believe that I came across as the perfect victim that could do no wrong and must be proven wrong. She just wanted me silent and to take the blame and her wrath. So much for a calm car ride.

I remember being told my birth was my own fault. Only once, but once was enough to see how little she cared in the moments where she was true. A malicious woman who needed an outlet for her constant rage.

 I remember being slapped hard enough that my nose bled once, followed by being told I lacked empathy. I did have empathy — just not for her. She never needed it to begin with. never actually cared, so neither did I. She just wanted my attention on her, she wanted her supply.

Bonding was never the goal. Obedience was. She always made that clear, anything less was grounds for punishment. Another lie to a relative, a hit, or something else.

She often said a child’s place was beneath their parent, no matter what. We're not friends, only order. I remember all of the times she would lie through the patio door. Constantly on the phone with someone. I remember how I'd listen to the false words then silently return to my room. No exposure, for the damage was already done. Even if others did care about me, she made sure that they didn't anymore. Yet i was constantly told repeatedly that the outside world didn’t care about me outside of her walls.

“If I didn’t care about you, you wouldn’t be under my roof eating my food.”

Care was always framed as debt. She also saw me as a person who owed her. I do everything for you and you're not even grateful. You're so selfish. You take and take.

Warmth and effort — the things I actually needed — were absent.

She would occasionally tell me that my father didn’t care about me, while also ensuring I never met him through a restraining order. He existed only as leverage when she was angry, a tool to reinforce her importance in my life. He didn't raise you, I did. Yet my life turned into hell because of you, not him. She put in all of that work after all. A  piece of that work was trying to make me feel bad that some guy I've never known nor looked for had mattered. Whenever he was brought up, it was very clear that he had a fancy for incest and it was even implied that his children are with his cousin. He was like a taboo. Yet she made it seem like i craved for a sick stranger. In truth I yearned for no  parents, no matter what.  

Eventually I noticed the pattern everywhere. It was never very hard.

“They don’t care about you, but I do.”

Same script. Different people. Different places.

After hearing it enough times, I stopped caring altogether. Why invest emotionally when the same role appears again and again? No one had any real value beyond using themselves and eventually their resources against me.

To her, I was an extra finger on her hand — useful, attached, but never independent like she needed, despite claiming to hate— while she repeated, “I love you more than you’ll ever know.”

I’m glad I’ll never truly understand her heart. And I no longer try to.

She never apologized for a reason.

And that reason is why I stopped waiting for one.