My Personal hell 1
This one good way to releas my anger. Read with caution.
There aren’t many things I rant about I barely get angry and never been too good at holding a grudge. But if there was one thing I ever hated it is my mother.
All I ever seem to hear from her when she opens her mouth is a stream of abuse. Why? Because
I am average.
I don’t have too many redeeming features that make me stand out.
I’m not a genius, I’m not pretty, or even sporty.
I am just me, and therefore I seem inferior in her eyes. Everything that makes me isn’t good enough and only evokes her anger. What has to be the worst though is the comparing.
I get compared to everyone, my cousins, my brother, random strangers…It’s just never ending, and she wonders why I don’t listen to her any more.
I tune her out the best that I can, but while innocently sitting here writing a short essay about Macbeath she storms in with another rant. And I just look at her and wonder what I had done wrong this time. Seem I forgotten the Ironing, as if she didn’t notice the fact that I had done all the other housework that morning.
I come to realise early in my life that what I do does not matter. I will never get ‘good girl’ comments, or the ‘never mind you will do better next time’ speech. Just the ‘I hate you’, and ‘useless child’ shouts that cut into me deeper then any blade could (don’t worry I’m not a cutter, am not lost that far yet). Of course she doesn’t notice my work, because what I do isn’t seen was worthwhile in her eyes.
My artistic ability is childs-play, and my writing is drivel. Yet what she expect from a person who had never received support for whatever I did?
Hell she’ll only acknowledge me if she knows it will upstage someone else’s child.
I am the ‘other’, the strange thing that lives with her, I am not me, I don’t think I’ll even
be just seen as me in her eyes. Now her ‘husband’, my step-father, the biggest fake I ever seen, another person who I’d rather see the back off. I don’t ask for much, I never do, but searching for acceptance is lost on her, and all I can do is count the days ‘til I go to Uni, and leave this God forsaken place behind.
My personal hell.
There aren’t many things I rant about I barely get angry and never been too good at holding a grudge. But if there was one thing I ever hated it is my mother.
All I ever seem to hear from her when she opens her mouth is a stream of abuse. Why? Because
I am average.
I don’t have too many redeeming features that make me stand out.
I’m not a genius, I’m not pretty, or even sporty.
I am just me, and therefore I seem inferior in her eyes. Everything that makes me isn’t good enough and only evokes her anger. What has to be the worst though is the comparing.
I get compared to everyone, my cousins, my brother, random strangers…It’s just never ending, and she wonders why I don’t listen to her any more.
I tune her out the best that I can, but while innocently sitting here writing a short essay about Macbeath she storms in with another rant. And I just look at her and wonder what I had done wrong this time. Seem I forgotten the Ironing, as if she didn’t notice the fact that I had done all the other housework that morning.
I come to realise early in my life that what I do does not matter. I will never get ‘good girl’ comments, or the ‘never mind you will do better next time’ speech. Just the ‘I hate you’, and ‘useless child’ shouts that cut into me deeper then any blade could (don’t worry I’m not a cutter, am not lost that far yet). Of course she doesn’t notice my work, because what I do isn’t seen was worthwhile in her eyes.
My artistic ability is childs-play, and my writing is drivel. Yet what she expect from a person who had never received support for whatever I did?
Hell she’ll only acknowledge me if she knows it will upstage someone else’s child.
I am the ‘other’, the strange thing that lives with her, I am not me, I don’t think I’ll even
be just seen as me in her eyes. Now her ‘husband’, my step-father, the biggest fake I ever seen, another person who I’d rather see the back off. I don’t ask for much, I never do, but searching for acceptance is lost on her, and all I can do is count the days ‘til I go to Uni, and leave this God forsaken place behind.
My personal hell.