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twinkle twinkle little star
shining down from afar
cold and bitter
fiery madness
shunning heaven and its gladness
even angels fear this madness

I hate my mother.
She called me, wanted to know why I totally blew Dad off. I tried to tell her that I called him, and that he said it was no big deal since he wasn't feeling well, we'd get together later. Well, Mom must have missed the part where I became an adult, because she spent the next twenty minutes yelling at me for not treating him like (and this is great) Alaric does and why can't I do even the simplest of things right?
Excuse me? Who actually bothers to talk to him and listen? Not you. You're too busy telling him that he works too hard and yelling at him for being to grounded on, the one who pays the bills and handles everything else because you didn't want. Do you ever ask him why he works so hard? Do you ever wonder why he nags and pesters? No, you just take every oppurtunity you can to remind him that you're not happy. And you really wonder why I moved out?
Maybe I missed something, but I'm a lot closer to Dad than you are. And what gives you the right to let off on me when you're just as bad. At least I have friends outside of work. At least I haven't managed to alienate everyone in the family save one.
I could have thrown all this back at her, could have reminded her that it was my gramdmother, not her, that explained the facts of life to me. It was my father, not her, that bothered to hug me when I came home from middle school in tears. Not her. All you had to say when I stopped riding the buss and walked the hour to middle school was to "ignore them and they'll go away". Yeah, Mom. Did you notice the bruises on my arms? Did you ever think to ask why I hated the YWCA every summer, why I never seemed to have any friends over? What did you do when I tried to run away that night in January? Did you even bother to ask me whereI was going? No. Then did you wonder why I didn't come back after three hours. No. And when Dad finally tracked me down and brought me back, did you even say anything to me. No.
Why didn't I say those things to her? I thought I'd gotten over them. Obviously, I haven't. Stupid child. I should have listened when she told me I was "too sensitive". Clearly I'm not the one who inherited her callous disregard, her thick skin.
You know how sometimes it seems like you're watching everything through a pair of binoculars? Like on the nature shows when, through the lens of a telescope, the leopard pounces on the gazzelle while some insanely perky guy does the play-by-play? "With superhuman speed, our cat makes short work of the prey, sharp teeth cutting quick and true?"
I kind of felt like that, listening to her go on and on, detailing all the aspects of my life she finds rephrehensible, while inside, whatever part of me that isn't being devoured is goading me to speak up, to...
To what? To hurt her, if that's possible, as much as her words hurt me? To hurt her. You know, the only time I've ever seen her cry is when someone she knew from TKD died. When my grandmother (her mother) died, she didn't even blink. When Dad had to go into the hospital last winter from pnemonia, she wasn't worried. When my only other grandmother talks about killing herself, Mom ignores her. I wonder if anything I ever say can hurt her.
And while she's ripping me to shreds, my only thought is that she's right. What can I say? She's my mother. I was raised to respect her. Everything I ever knew pointed to the concept that she was older, wiser, and knew what to do. How can I argue with that?
Does she know that whatever she says will continue to bounce around long after she stops talking? Does she realize that I spent the better part of my life trying to earn her acceptance, since I coudn't ever seem to earn her love?

I hate my mother, and I hate myself because of it.


( 1 comment — Leave a comment )
Mar. 20th, 2002 02:21 pm (UTC)
I know it's no substitute, but we love you and accept you and respect you for being kind, generous, and brave. Hang in there...
( 1 comment — Leave a comment )



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