I don’t know how things work in other families, but I have a huge problem: I can’t find common ground with my own mother. We’re constantly arguing, unable to find any points of connection. I don’t know how it came to this, but she doesn’t just irritate me—I can’t even breathe the same air as her. More than anything in the world, I want to leave home and never see her again. Never!
When I’m in the same room as her, my mood sours instantly. I don’t know what it is. They say all problems stem from childhood. And that’s absolutely true.
I remember the resentment toward her started when I was a kid. Her life turned out in a way that she was never married. She met my father when he was already married. She was always the other woman. When she got pregnant, my father bought her an apartment and provided financial support. Thanks to him, we never lacked anything. That went on for a few years, but then they split up.
As a child, I rarely saw my father—maybe once a month, sometimes every two months. And it wasn’t him who was against our visits; it was her. Recently, I haven’t seen my dad in years. My whole life, my parents have badmouthed each other, and I was supposed to tear myself apart for them. What child could handle that?
Yet my dad would come to see me, and even Mom, bringing bags full of groceries and treats. But instead of thanking him, Mom would start saying nasty things. I don’t know why, but it stuck in my head that she’s a bad person. I think that’s when my negative feelings toward her began.
I spent my entire childhood with my grandmother, and my mother would only show up occasionally. When she was home, she never cared about my problems.
At every opportunity, she’d pawn me off on my grandparents. So how am I supposed to feel about her? For as long as I can remember, my grandmother took care of me. Then a great tragedy struck—my grandmother passed away. I was only twelve. For me, the world stopped. I had to live with my mother. Those were the worst years of my life. She never showed interest in my problems.
No matter what happened to me, she didn’t care at all. I got the impression she regretted having me instead of getting an abortion back then. Though, without me, she wouldn’t have been able to siphon money from my father. She wouldn’t have her own apartment and would still be living with her parents.
If I tried to seek any comfort, she’d immediately dismiss it as nonsense and refuse to listen. I grew up as a pretty calm child and didn’t cause trouble. I understood there was no one I could rely on. My whole life, I tried to please her. While my classmates went to the movies or dances, I had to clean the house. She’d lock me at home, and I was supposed to tidy up. Meanwhile, she was out somewhere. I never had friends—she wouldn’t allow it. And who’d want to be friends with a girl whose mother is a psychopath? Then she’d come home and throw tantrums if something wasn’t to her liking.
When I finished high school, I had to start working. She told me I needed to help her. She treated me like I was a grown man. I never heard a kind word from her, only criticism. As I got older, I sometimes tried to refuse her demands. The awful things she said to me are impossible to describe.
My mother started behaving absolutely terribly. Sometimes I felt like we’d swapped roles. Then something truly horrific happened. She seduced some underage guy and got pregnant by him. Of course, she didn’t need to keep the baby, so she dragged me along to the clinic for an abortion. When I asked her if it was time to take responsibility for her actions, she just laughed.
Now you can understand why I feel this way about her. She thinks she’s a star and the whole world revolves around her. As if I can’t have my own problems. I can’t even have a normal conversation with her—she acts like a teenager. If I try to talk to her calmly, she starts blaming me for everything. Says I take after my father, that I’m just as foolish. How can you talk to someone like that?
I’m trying to change how I feel about her, but I can’t yet. Her voice is always in my head, spewing nasty things. I know it’s wrong to hate your own mother like this. But for now, I can’t change anything…
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