Damn it!
I think I just shed my first tears of the year.
It is no surprise that the ONE person able to fuck me up--regardless of how fucking great I might be doing-- is the one who did it again: my mom.
And you know what made it all snowball out of control? Me refusing to bring in the goddamn fucking CAKE she had brought home from the store.
I GAVE UP SUGAR FOR MOTHERFUCKING LENT-- SOMETHING I DO BECAUSE OF MY MOTHER... this whole Lent thing.
Am I the only one who sees the goddamn irony in all of this? The fucked up... absurdity of this?
The part of me refusing to help her with the cake made her get in a mood which led to her usual spewing hurtful shit out of spite... and one phrase really struck a fucking chord with me, because it's currently a sensitive subject... and I lost it (I'm ok now. And by "lost it" I mean "I quietly, indignantly walked to my room and cried, out of my mother's sight").
I can only hear people accuse me of being a bad person before I really... just... get confused... and the confusion makes me cry... because I have no clue how to fix it.
I mean... I try, I try so very, very, VERY hard to be nice to others... to the point where I get accused of being a brown-noser. I compliment, sincerely compliment others... and it's taken as insincere or with having strings attached... or... trying to self-aggrandize.
But... I honestly do it... because I... I'm a good person, dude.
I donate to causes that are close to my heart-- I donate money, clothes, time... hair-- and most of the time, I don't say a single WORD about it. I just fucking do it.
And now I find myself FEARING admitting to donating, or any other good deed, because I'll get accused of being a braggart.
If I've learned anything, it's that I will not win.
Don't donate: I'm a bitch.
Donate: I'm a bragging-ass bitch.
Hang out with someone: What the fuck does she want?
Don't hang out with someone: Who the fuck does this bitch think she is, anyway?
And so on.
I'm damned if I do it, damned if I don't.
It doesn't matter who I THINK I am... because apparently everyone else knows me better than I know myself.
But back to my mom.
I've learned, somewhat, to cope with the opinions of others.
But my parents? My MOM? I don't... I don't quite know... I never have.
It's maddening to know that I've done (and NOT DONE) so many things because of her... and yet, she still thinks I'm... a bad person. She's sick of me... she's sick of me, guys.
These fucking words uttered because I refused to bring in a cake SHE purchased... during Lent... when I gave up sugar.
Like... ?
And this is why I hate apologies, guys.
I struggle with... debilitating, soul-crushing depression... QUIETLY struggle, because god forbid I bother someone with my fucking emotionally-weak, attention-seeking bullshit ass "illness"... I FORCE myself out of the struggle... I FORCE myself to get better... and then I have to stand there and watch others painstakingly untie all the knots I've made in the ripped rope I used to climb out of the abyss. And then when the rope breaks and I'm fucking LOST, an "I'm sorry" is supposed to magically get it all patched up and A-OK.
But I'm ok. Seriously.
I understand what she said was said out of some... fucked up anger she probably built up throughout the day... and like always, took out on me... I'm the only one around.
This is just a blip. A painful little blip, that--as always-- I just have to get over... I mean, I HAVE been doing this for the last 25 years. I'll be fine.
I think I just shed my first tears of the year.
It is no surprise that the ONE person able to fuck me up--regardless of how fucking great I might be doing-- is the one who did it again: my mom.
And you know what made it all snowball out of control? Me refusing to bring in the goddamn fucking CAKE she had brought home from the store.
I GAVE UP SUGAR FOR MOTHERFUCKING LENT-- SOMETHING I DO BECAUSE OF MY MOTHER... this whole Lent thing.
Am I the only one who sees the goddamn irony in all of this? The fucked up... absurdity of this?
The part of me refusing to help her with the cake made her get in a mood which led to her usual spewing hurtful shit out of spite... and one phrase really struck a fucking chord with me, because it's currently a sensitive subject... and I lost it (I'm ok now. And by "lost it" I mean "I quietly, indignantly walked to my room and cried, out of my mother's sight").
I can only hear people accuse me of being a bad person before I really... just... get confused... and the confusion makes me cry... because I have no clue how to fix it.
I mean... I try, I try so very, very, VERY hard to be nice to others... to the point where I get accused of being a brown-noser. I compliment, sincerely compliment others... and it's taken as insincere or with having strings attached... or... trying to self-aggrandize.
But... I honestly do it... because I... I'm a good person, dude.
I donate to causes that are close to my heart-- I donate money, clothes, time... hair-- and most of the time, I don't say a single WORD about it. I just fucking do it.
And now I find myself FEARING admitting to donating, or any other good deed, because I'll get accused of being a braggart.
If I've learned anything, it's that I will not win.
Don't donate: I'm a bitch.
Donate: I'm a bragging-ass bitch.
Hang out with someone: What the fuck does she want?
Don't hang out with someone: Who the fuck does this bitch think she is, anyway?
And so on.
I'm damned if I do it, damned if I don't.
It doesn't matter who I THINK I am... because apparently everyone else knows me better than I know myself.
But back to my mom.
I've learned, somewhat, to cope with the opinions of others.
But my parents? My MOM? I don't... I don't quite know... I never have.
It's maddening to know that I've done (and NOT DONE) so many things because of her... and yet, she still thinks I'm... a bad person. She's sick of me... she's sick of me, guys.
These fucking words uttered because I refused to bring in a cake SHE purchased... during Lent... when I gave up sugar.
Like... ?
And this is why I hate apologies, guys.
I struggle with... debilitating, soul-crushing depression... QUIETLY struggle, because god forbid I bother someone with my fucking emotionally-weak, attention-seeking bullshit ass "illness"... I FORCE myself out of the struggle... I FORCE myself to get better... and then I have to stand there and watch others painstakingly untie all the knots I've made in the ripped rope I used to climb out of the abyss. And then when the rope breaks and I'm fucking LOST, an "I'm sorry" is supposed to magically get it all patched up and A-OK.
But I'm ok. Seriously.
I understand what she said was said out of some... fucked up anger she probably built up throughout the day... and like always, took out on me... I'm the only one around.
This is just a blip. A painful little blip, that--as always-- I just have to get over... I mean, I HAVE been doing this for the last 25 years. I'll be fine.
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