I
think a lot- that's nothing new, but a few days ago I
really got thinking. I remembering being 5 and walking around
seeing the girls dressed in black and thinking nothing of it
until my mom would make a snide comment. I remember being 10
and walking past guys covered in tattoos and thinking nothing
of it until my mom would snicker and say that they were
probably in jail or doing drugs. I remember being 12 and
seeing my cousins girlfriend who had white lines all over her
wrists and wanting to hug her until my mom later told me how
weak she was and how she would probably kill herself soon. I
remember not having judgement until my mother put hers in my
mind. Now I remember passing a guy in Walmart a day ago
covered in tattoos and not thinking of anything but,
"Wow, I wonder what they mean to him." and I
remember hugging my friend when she told me about her self
harm and I saw all the scars. Now I remember looking in the
mirror every morning and noting my black jeans and my usual
black band shirt.
And that's when it hit me. The realization and the anwser
to my question of 'Why does my mother hate me?'
She hates me because I'm exactly what she didn't want
me to be. I'm exactly what she tried to make me
judge.
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уσυαяєѕσνєяувєαυтιfυℓχχ* · 1 decade ago
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Well she shouldn't hate you. Because you're wonderful and nice and gorgeous. You're you. What more could she possibly want? x