How dare you write my mother such a hateful email? How dare you accuse her of stealing from you, abusing your trust, and all that other BULLSHIT?
When you went on that vacation, my mother SPENT HER ENTIRE SUMMER cleaning your house. It was like a crackhouse. It was worse, actually–there are probably homeless people who live in better conditions. I’m not talking about any normal kind of messy. I’m talking about the kind of house that that guy with newspapers piled so high that they could fall over and suffocate had. That stuff she ‘stole’? She did borrow a couple of DVDs and books to show us, cause we might be interested. You’d bought them years ago and still hadn’t opened them. Of course, you wouldnt know cause you haven’t talked to her since you came home. She dared to turn on the heat in your house so the pipes wouldn’t freeze. You know why she bothered? Because if they did, it would be her paying for them. Because she’s an incredibly wonderful person and she wouldn’t let you be fucked over by that, because you’re retired and disabled and poor, but it would be HER working her ass off, overtime, so you could live in comfort. We worked for months on your house, fixing it up nicely, getting you a brand new computer chair, painting all the rooms, fixing the lights, gardening, scrubbing down the furniture–it was covered with cigarette somke and reeked like an ashtray. It has become increasingly clear to me that you do have mental problems–some sort of irrational paranoia–but that’s not what my mom is going to see. She’s going to see the friend she’s had for 25-some years spitting in her face.
She admires you immensely, she respects you–she’s often told me how smart you are and how glda she is to have you for a friend. Fuck that. My mom is a better person than you’ll ever be. My dad too–when you were going to lose your house, he drove FOUR HOURS to Seattle and FOUR HOURS back so that you could make the payment on time. My parents have paid for a lot of other shit too, that they don’t tell me about–but I know. And that’s besides just being a good friend to you, listening to your problems, caring–caring a lot more than you deserve.
And now I’m going to have to show her this piece of filth you sent–warning the police to watch your home? you nutcase–and when she breaks down in tears I’m going to have to comfort her. She doesn’t have that many close friends, especially in this country, and she feels alone and mis-fit away from her native country, stuck here in America, and so she especially values the friends she have here, and you do this to her? You fucking bitch. I don’t care what mental problems you may have, what senile dementia may have overtaken you, you don’t deserve to have a friend like my mother.
Now that I’m a little calmer, I can’t hate you that much. Like I said, talkign to you on the way home from the airport, it’s clear that you are suffering from mental illness of some sort–your paranoia about your neighbors, your insistence that people are stealing from you–you need help. But right now, it’s hard to care. All I know is that I have to watch my mother breaking her heart over you and she is the best woman I know.