never again
So I did something terrible and wonderful today.
I called my house and of course it was my mother that answered the phone...
Which, I guess, was what I wanted.
I needed to get my social security card and, obviously, she had it.
I really didn't want to talk to her. I know many of you may not understand this, but I hate my mother. Now, every teenager feels misunderstood and frustrated with their parents at least once in their lifetime and several people overly use the word "hate" in order to vent. Not me, I am one that was blessed with a very careful filter in my head; meaning...I have thought and considered all my words before they come out of my mouth.
So I hate my mother. I hate her voice and it makes my stomach shift into thousands of twisted knots until it rips apart. And every time the little child in me hears her voice and is comforted, becaue a little girl in me use to love and look up to her...well...that makes me even sicker.
Nevertheless, I called. I dialed a phone number that brought several memories with every digit and I talked to a woman whom I haven't spoken with in nearly six months.
The conversation was cold, short, and unpleasant, but it wasn't unproductive.
I was afraid of calling. I was afraid of every untolerable pain that came along with interracting with my mom. I was terrified that in the past six months I had finally escaped a world in which I was a piece of shit and now I would have to go back to that feeling. But I called her. I faced my fears and my fearful realities. And you know what, from this point onward in my life I will never feel crushed by my mother again.
I called my house and of course it was my mother that answered the phone...
Which, I guess, was what I wanted.
I needed to get my social security card and, obviously, she had it.
I really didn't want to talk to her. I know many of you may not understand this, but I hate my mother. Now, every teenager feels misunderstood and frustrated with their parents at least once in their lifetime and several people overly use the word "hate" in order to vent. Not me, I am one that was blessed with a very careful filter in my head; meaning...I have thought and considered all my words before they come out of my mouth.
So I hate my mother. I hate her voice and it makes my stomach shift into thousands of twisted knots until it rips apart. And every time the little child in me hears her voice and is comforted, becaue a little girl in me use to love and look up to her...well...that makes me even sicker.
Nevertheless, I called. I dialed a phone number that brought several memories with every digit and I talked to a woman whom I haven't spoken with in nearly six months.
The conversation was cold, short, and unpleasant, but it wasn't unproductive.
I was afraid of calling. I was afraid of every untolerable pain that came along with interracting with my mom. I was terrified that in the past six months I had finally escaped a world in which I was a piece of shit and now I would have to go back to that feeling. But I called her. I faced my fears and my fearful realities. And you know what, from this point onward in my life I will never feel crushed by my mother again.