Here’s to you, mom
You don’t like me, do you mom? Am I so ugly inside that nothing I do is ever worthy of praise, if it’s not an excellent academical achievement? Do you need to be so “true” all the time? I’d rather you be fake sometimes, quite often really. If being true is your way of “hurting others while being a good person for it because I’m telling the truth”, then I don’t wanna hear it. Most of all, is the laughter necessary? Is the enjoyment you feel doing it a loving one? Or do you just enjoy humiliating me in front of others? I would never speak badly of you, or say things I know will hurt you even if they were true, in front of others. If you have a problem is me you gotta tell, not anybody else. Am I really so worthless to you? Is our relationship so worthless to you, mom? You can tell me if it is, I’ll go on my own way. I know you hate me, or at least really dislike me, because there’s no other way you’d be so harsh to me if you liked me and not just loved me. Your love is also very strange indeed. You’d give me your own leg if I needed one, but you would - and already have - shout in my face when I’m crying my heart out to you. Sometimes I feel like you’d have preferred a machine as a daughter, and I unfortunately can’t be that. I’ve tried, mom, to be one. And you’ve resented me for it, too. Then you wonder why I don’t tell you anything. But how could I, if every time I muster up the courage to do that you tell me I should just be stronger and move on? I can find my own solutions, it’s not those I search for when I come crying to you. I’d like to be understood and seen, that’s what I’d like. I’m not saying you never did comfort me, but I can probably count those times on one hand if we’re talking about my teenage years. And I know I love you, but you make it so hard to want to stay near you. It’s almost like all you have in your veins is venom. I’m genuinely scared by you and your expressions sometimes, but maybe I’m just too sensitive now, aren’t I, mom? I’d like to say you’re my biggest friend, mom. But I almost always feel like you try really hard to be my greatest enemy. Why can’t you protect me? Why must you be the very one to expose every single one of my wounds and my weaknesses to others and rub them in salt every time? Why? So I can become stronger and change? I think I’ve told you enough times now that that doesn’t work, mom. But please, keep it your way. I would hate for you to feel like you need to change, mom, really. And I hate that I’m so bitter towards you, and I know it’s your first time living too… but couldn’t you make the effort, just for once, to listen to me? Is that too much to ask? And please stop raising your voice, I can’t take it anymore. I already live every second on the verge of tears, I don’t need your triggers. I’m not saying my shitty life is your fault, you’re not the reason it is the way it is, don’t try to twist my words… but couldn’t you support me? Why do you have to give me the silent treatment when I can’t act on your suggestions? Why do you have to always “joke” around like that? That’s only funny to you, nobody else, mom. I feel like you’re always trying to get me to think like you, telling me what’s good and what’s not, how to do things, you always need to control everything. And you resent your mother for never giving you any direction, but what if she was just trying to let you choose for yourself? I don’t know what you lived, but why don’t you ever question yourself? Why can’t you even fathom the idea that maybe, just fucking maybe, you could be wrong sometime? You won’t die if you admit that, I promise. And I hate that I’m just so full of rage and resentment, that’s why I don’t usually tell you, but I need to let it out somehow, so… here’s to you, mom. Love you.