I'm unsure of what I'm supposed to say or how I'm supposed to feel. I don't know what's going on anymore because I've lost all control. I feel numb, like I'm meant to feel something but I just can't. I don't know if it's from the lack of sleep or from the lack of communication.
Recently my mother told me of her depression. And all I wanted to do was tell her to suck it the he fuck up, because that's what she told me. I wanted so badly the tell her that maybe she should go to the crazy house and stay there, just like she told me. I wanted to yell at her for ruining everything, just like she did. I wanted so badly to tell her that she should be ashamed of it because your scars are the ugliest thing in the world, just like she told me. I want her to feel so much fucking pain, I want her to know what it's like to wake up and not be able to breathe because your nose is still stuffy from crying that night. I wanted her to know for a moment what it's like to be told that you should hide in shame because you're being a baby and everything about you is so ugly, and then use that pain for my own sick pleasure of getting sympathy and attention, just like my mother did with me.
I can't even begin to describe to the pain I felt when she did that, I felt as though I was nothing but something for her to beat down. I was her psychotic rag doll, and she loved throwing me against a brick wall repeatedly, or putting me in tight spaces so I'll scream and cry because I can't breathe. I want her to know what it's like to be on edge all the time, to scream at the top of your lungs even though it burns and you feel like you're going to pass out from the lack of oxygen. I want so much pain to come to her because she'll never realize how I have so many emotional scars from her, more than the ones that cover my body.
But what good will that to do? Who am I to wish pain upon someone, even if they did hurt me. I must keep quiet, not say a word about my own sadness because when she yelled at me for gathering the courage and telling her that I feel sad again, I had never felt more alone in the world. And since those lonely feelings are back, I have to keep quiet because I don't want to be locked in small closets more than I already am. I don't want to be told that I'm psychotic more than I already am. I hate to admit it, but I am terrified of my mother. I am so fucking scared. What child should fear their own mother?
Why is it okay for my mother to say how she's feeling, when I have to suck it up because I'm being over dramatic? Why is it okay for her to terrorize me? She can find help somewhere else, because she won't find it me. She can suck it okay the fuck up because she's being over dramatic. She can go to the crazy house and stay there. She can stop calling herself my mother, because it okay already have.
