Fuck Off, Mom in A Childhood Lost

I’m done.
Absolutely done. I don’t want any more of your shit.
I need you to just shut the fuck up. Listen to me for the first time in your life. Stop. Just stop. Listen.
I can’t take the blame. I can’t. I just can’t. It’s wrong. It’s not right. You blame me, and make excuses for yourself. You tell me to adhere to simple morality, and complicate it for yourself. For me, it’s simple; I made a choice. It’s my fault. For you, it’s complicated! Your childhood was bad. Your mother abandoned you. Your brothers abused you. Your dad beat you. Your husband spent all the money. You had to work. You had no choice.
Look. You blame me and that’s fine. I want to be held accountable for my choices. But, mom, I really need you to hold yourself accountable to your choices. I need you to take at least as much responsibility as you gave me when I was 5 years old. I need you to take seriously the rules that you said we’re so important I obey and respect when I was just a child.
I need this from you. It’s not a request. It’s a requirement.
And mom, if you don’t, you can fuck right off. When I see you, or hear you, blaming me or my son for your garbage choices or life or consequences of your behavior, I will unleash the full extent of my righteous anger. You will feel the wrath of my hatred for your evil, demonic temptation. You will suffer as you have made me suffer as a child.
I will not be tempted to repeat your evil.
Begone, devil.