(no subject)
URGH! I had a really long, really tedious conversation with Mum today. She doesn't like it that I'm anti-social. She says that I'm lonely in school. I told her that loneliness is a choice, but she didn't like that answer. So she came up with all kinds of weird shit to explain the fact that I don't have friends. Oy.
She's all like "You won't take a risk because you're afraid of getting hurt... you like being miserable." And I insisted that I wasn't miserable but she wouldn't buy. And the whole time I was thinking that, if anybody knows how miserable or unmiserable I am, it's me. So she went on to say that I didn't know what happiness was, or what joy was and blah blah blah. She says that I *exist* rather and *live* and she claims to know me. I'm like WTF, how the hell does *she* know me? The only one that knows me is me. I don't let people know me and she doesn't seem to get that I like it that way.
She basically told me that I was going to fail in life. Thanks Mom. She actually said the words, too. "You're going to fail." Boy, isn't it nice to know that she's got confidence in me? She says that I need people. And I'm like WTF, how do you know what I need? Because she doesn't. She thinks because she fucking gave birth to me that she knows everything about me. She doesn't. She hasn't been there for fucking half my fucking life. What gives her the right to say that I need anything?
I've always said that it's better to do it on your own because people aren't trustworthy and they always leave you. It's fucking true. She wonders why I think that way. I'm like, "Look in the mirror, bitch." She doesn't get it. How the hell am I supposed to trust people with all that she did to me? With all the shit she dumped on me when I was a kid?
She got mad at me today cuz I complained about making green beans. I don't mind doing it usually, but I'm mad at her. I'm sick of being dumped on because of her fucking injuries. Fucking shoulder. Fucking jaw. Fucking post traumatic stress. Fucking drug addictions. Fucking cigarettes. Fucking mental issues. Fucking teeth shit. Fucking shoulder. Fucking everything. I'm fucking sick of it. Watching the boys 24/7 when she's fucking lying unconscious/dead asleep on the couch because of some fucking medicine. Having to find rides with other people because I can't depend on her. Having to call her from fucking play practice in fucking 7th grade because she was half an hour late because she fucking fell asleep. I am so fucking sick of it. I fucking raised myself, what the hell gives her any right to say anything about me? Where does she get off making me cook fucking green beans?
If she gave a flying fuck about how I'm anti-social, she wouldn't have messed with my fucking head so much. I was fucking 12 years old. You don't attempt fucking suicide in front of your fucking 12 year old. You don't leave said 12 year old to pick up all the fucking pieces. YOu don't make her raise her brothers or herself. You don't tell her you love her and then not be there for her. You don't get fucking addicted to a fucking prescription drug in front of your fucking impressionable kids. You don't teach your kid to trust people and then go around and stab them in the fucking back. You don't suddenly emerge from some kind of fucking coma and say "Hi, sweetie, I'm going to be your mom now." Because it's never going to fucking work. You can't expect me to just go with that and say "hey mom, great, i love you." it just doens't fucking work that way. You don't hurt me like that and then expect me to be fucking happy.
No wonder I'm so fucking anti-social.
She's all like "You won't take a risk because you're afraid of getting hurt... you like being miserable." And I insisted that I wasn't miserable but she wouldn't buy. And the whole time I was thinking that, if anybody knows how miserable or unmiserable I am, it's me. So she went on to say that I didn't know what happiness was, or what joy was and blah blah blah. She says that I *exist* rather and *live* and she claims to know me. I'm like WTF, how the hell does *she* know me? The only one that knows me is me. I don't let people know me and she doesn't seem to get that I like it that way.
She basically told me that I was going to fail in life. Thanks Mom. She actually said the words, too. "You're going to fail." Boy, isn't it nice to know that she's got confidence in me? She says that I need people. And I'm like WTF, how do you know what I need? Because she doesn't. She thinks because she fucking gave birth to me that she knows everything about me. She doesn't. She hasn't been there for fucking half my fucking life. What gives her the right to say that I need anything?
I've always said that it's better to do it on your own because people aren't trustworthy and they always leave you. It's fucking true. She wonders why I think that way. I'm like, "Look in the mirror, bitch." She doesn't get it. How the hell am I supposed to trust people with all that she did to me? With all the shit she dumped on me when I was a kid?
She got mad at me today cuz I complained about making green beans. I don't mind doing it usually, but I'm mad at her. I'm sick of being dumped on because of her fucking injuries. Fucking shoulder. Fucking jaw. Fucking post traumatic stress. Fucking drug addictions. Fucking cigarettes. Fucking mental issues. Fucking teeth shit. Fucking shoulder. Fucking everything. I'm fucking sick of it. Watching the boys 24/7 when she's fucking lying unconscious/dead asleep on the couch because of some fucking medicine. Having to find rides with other people because I can't depend on her. Having to call her from fucking play practice in fucking 7th grade because she was half an hour late because she fucking fell asleep. I am so fucking sick of it. I fucking raised myself, what the hell gives her any right to say anything about me? Where does she get off making me cook fucking green beans?
If she gave a flying fuck about how I'm anti-social, she wouldn't have messed with my fucking head so much. I was fucking 12 years old. You don't attempt fucking suicide in front of your fucking 12 year old. You don't leave said 12 year old to pick up all the fucking pieces. YOu don't make her raise her brothers or herself. You don't tell her you love her and then not be there for her. You don't get fucking addicted to a fucking prescription drug in front of your fucking impressionable kids. You don't teach your kid to trust people and then go around and stab them in the fucking back. You don't suddenly emerge from some kind of fucking coma and say "Hi, sweetie, I'm going to be your mom now." Because it's never going to fucking work. You can't expect me to just go with that and say "hey mom, great, i love you." it just doens't fucking work that way. You don't hurt me like that and then expect me to be fucking happy.
No wonder I'm so fucking anti-social.