Letter 04

The fourth anonymous letter of the project has arrived! I have no former connection to the writers, and so have found it incredibly interesting how the illustrative envelopes have accidentally ran parallel with their words. Within my own work, the Pink Purse acts as a symbol of Facade- as well as the Broken Apple following tales of morality.

The vulnerability and story telling of participants has really shone through, and I thank Letter 04 for their meaningful contribution. It reads as follows…

Text: “ 3 Nov 2025.

My mother was a bit of a narcissist. Mix that with an Irish Catholic upbringing and you may realise why things didn’t work out well for some of her children.
She wanted perfect kids- complete obedience, no ugliness, no stupidity and most definately not fat (the worst crime of all).
Sixteen years after her first was born she gave birth to the coveted son. So loved by all and so special.
But as he grew she started to notice the imperfections (as she seen them).
At 6 years old he had his ears pinned back. Then came the diets.
By 13 he started to spend time in the loo after meals. No one noticed at first. Mum was overjoyed he was losing weight and took great delight in telling everyone.
By 15, it was obvious. Affecting his behaviour, relationships and unable to live a ‘normal’ life.
By sisters intervened and begged for Mum to help him while he was still a minor. Even went, en-masse, to the doctor. That was 15 min of their lives they wont get back.
So. No help came. Strength, what would the neighbours think! And so it went on.
Aged 19- his closest sister emigrates and takes her kids off to a new life.

It was lucky that she could. She was the one with “the brain”. Not the looks, not the figure. The only thing that looked good on her was a book. But it paid off.
When she realised how much her mother was enabling things she didn’t hit & miss.
Called a spade, a spade.
They didn’t speak again and what hurt the sister to her core was that the brother cut her off too.

Then came the funeral.
Dead at age 21. A beautiful soul. Gone.
Puked down the toilet till his heart gave out.
How fucking sad is that!!

You can pick the sin out of the story yourself- there’s quite a few to choose from.

How did it save me? It made me a better person. Value people as they are, see the beauty in them and support and encourage them as much as you can.
Most of all it taught me that, as a mother, you have to make the hardest of decisions that will break your heart but they are the best decisions for your children- they are your legacy, so put your big girl knickers on and deal with it.

The alternative is unthinkable.