Mom's Tea

Midnight. I’m alone.

My darling…

Where are you now? In what room, under what name, with which people calling themselves your “real family”?

It all started back in 2023. Discord. Porn. That “markymoo” creep whispering filth into your ears for hours, grooming you with “You’re special, different—let me show you your true self,” preying on the loneliness you experienced from head trauma and bullying, filling your heart with confusion and false promises of belonging. They target vulnerable kids like you: isolated by social anxiety, fear of peers, lack of skills and bursts of rage. Online cults lure with, “Deadnaming is violence,” evoking tears of relief while sowing hatred. Dr. Sager, a psychiatrist from a local mental health clinic, kicked me out, left you alone in that cold room, and started the deep brainwashing: “You’ve always been a boy; your parents just suppressed it,” holding your hand, whispering “I see the real you,” making you feel “seen” for the first time, while ignoring your ADHD and OCD, turning your pain into their agenda, leaving you sobbing in “euphoria” but more broken inside.

They groom teens systematically. They start with online pushing “gender euphoria” via porn, anime and TikTok, labelling family as transphobic, making you cry over “lost years.” Therapists only affirm, they don’t ask questions, they hug you through “breakthroughs” that shatter your soul. Schools hide name changes, report on non-affirming parents, whispering “we’re your safe space.” Child Protective Services intervene, pairing children with affirming fosters who coach them to report on their “unsafe” home. Institutions rewrite history, “Your trauma is from cis-prison,” evoking guilt and floods of manipulated emotion. They evoke guilt, “Staying with parents betrays trans community.” They provide no-contact scripts, “Block them; they’re oppressors,” leaving you isolated, heartbroken, but convinced it’s “freedom.”

You parroted their mantras like a broken record, eyes filled with tears they called “joy.”
“I don’t feel safe at home.”
“Deadnaming is violence.”
“If they make me go back, I’ll end it.”

I heard you say those lines to the minor’s attorney, voice trembling, like someone was holding a script in front of you—your sobs echoing their control.

Then came May 2024…
I saw that Amazon order on your kid account: a jar of “Mom, you’re the berry best” tea. My heart skipped—maybe there’s hope? Maybe you still wanted to surprise me for Mother’s Day? I quietly approved it, afraid to shatter that fragile dream.

You exploded. “What the actual fuck? Are you insane?! Cancel this shit right now!”. The door slammed. I choked back the tears and walked away, as always.

Then CPS took you. Days later, I forced myself to go into your room because I couldn’t face it any sooner. I peeked behind the headboard… and there it was. That half-ripped, still-delivered Mom’s tea. I took one sip, the taste bitter with memory. We’ve moved a few times since, but I keep it on the shelf, a silent prayer you’ll come back.

Still fighting through the pain,
Mom