This is an open letter to my mother-in-law, consisting of …well, most of the things I have been wanting to say to her but cannot and will not because I prefer to keep my family in tact.

Your son is, inherently, a good person. Somehow, the combination of your tortured and horrible soul with that of his then-drug-addicted, now-enlightened father created a person that strives to help and provide for others. On this, I congratulate you. But your influence has done nothing but give him a jaded view of this world. I have been around long enough to know that you’re scoffing and protesting that my hippie parents raised me in a “fantasy” world where no one ever looks at another person’s skin and makes judgments or snap decisions about them.  You’ve said this to me. And my mother.

I think that somewhere inside you may have a decent bone in your body. I have no idea where the hell it is or why it has been buried so far down, but your victim complex makes it too hard for you to see. I don’t want to take your son. I want him to be his own person.

Of course, this does not line up with the life that you have set up for him. Passive-aggressively guilting him into working for you when he was 14 has been profitable for you, to say the least. But he has never had the opportunity to fend for himself because any and all offers of assistance, love, monetary or compassion-wise have all been directly linked to labor for you and your company.

Watching my husband rush out of the house because you have appointments the following day but no gas in the car, you want spare ribs or slow-smoked turkey for dinner, or need to have local bills paid but you “just don’t want to” get your lazy, pot-smoking, pain pill addicted ass off the couch is sad. The fact that he thinks this is normal is painful for me. I love him more than he will ever understand how to love anyone because his entire life has been tarnished by your Cluster B personality bullshit.

Stop being a victim of life and your surroundings, grow the fuck up and deal with your own shit.