Hate

I hate my mother.

Maybe hate is too strong a word. I honestly am beginning to think she really dislikes me though. I've never seen any mother treat her child the way she does. It hurts. It makes me angry. But day after day, year after year I deal with it. I used to reach my boiling point, explode in anger and then vow I'd never allow her back into my life again. Then I think, she's my mother. I'm supposed to have her in my life. I look at the people I know that are without there mothers or fathers or both of their parents and I feel chagrined that I do have both my parents and perhaps I just don't appreciate them enough.

And then comes the spiteful barbs from my mother. The snide remarks, degrading comments. Generally speaking to me and about me like I haven't a brain in my head. Constantly undermining my self confidence and self esteem since, well, since I can remember. I know when I was my oldest daughter's age she was already priming me to never think I was pretty because I wasn't. Those were her exact words. Vanity is sin. So I grew up thinking I wasn't pretty and that I was worthless.

You know what?

This isn't even worth typing. I'm so sick of being angry. And hurt. And dejected. What I wouldn't give to just feel like myself again.