terça-feira, 10 de agosto de 2010


I need to talk about how angry I am, otherwise, I fear I'll explode.

First and foremost, I'll state that I am angry at myself for feeling so out of control and so hostile.  
And then I'll procede to apologize in advance if any of this ranting gets to you.
And then I'll say, this is my post and I should be able to talk about whatever I want. 

I'm angry at my mother. There, I said it. Cliché, but whatever. I'm very angry at her, years of anger that bubble up in seconds of apparent trivialities. I'm angry at her tired looks, her exhaustion, her always making excuses for her tiredness and exhaustion and for all the years she couldn't "be there" because of everything. EVERYTHING. What everything, mom? Oh, I don't know, I'm too tired to talk about it, just need to sleep. Angry at her naps, her neverending naps. Angry at how she gets annoyed at me or at the world every time she does groceries because nobody EVER does them, only her, yet I keep myself from yelling, yes, but who did them the last hundred times?? And who's house is it supposed to be anyway? Yes, I know, I am 24 and perfectly capable of doing the groceries, but I told you, this is a product of years of broiling.

I want to be an adult but away from here. Here I feel like an eternal 13 years old, ackward between her still childness protection and need for care and her newfound responsabilities.  I put away the groceries today dreaming of the time I had my own little apartment for 3 months and did my own groceries and cooked my own food and it all felt good and natural, not bitter and hostile. 

I'm angry at how she doesn't know me at all, how she doesn't care to know me. I'm angry at how, when she does try to ask about something, I respond curtly, acid spilling out of my mouth. It's like I won't give her the chance anymore, and I feel like a horrible person. 

I'm angry that my self-esteem is stuck in this rut and how the more I feel this way, the more it becomes true. I'm angry that I'm so scared to tell anyone how little I think of myself, because I'm scared they'll see it too and walk away. I'm angry because I know it's not true but it feels true. 
I'm angry at myself for the vicious circles.
I'm angry at myself for getting lost in a maze somewhere that took me away from wanting to be a Psychologist. For not paying attention. I don't know what happened and I can only say it's my fault, for what else could it be?  I'm angry at myself for all the self-pitying and self-loathing. AND for being angry at myself. For Pete's sake!!

I'm tired, so much anger drains me. But when I get tired I sound like my mom and that makes me furious. When I pinch my fingers at the beginning of my nose, between my eyes and sigh, I catch myself and want to die, for that is her favorite tired pose. 
I wonder if she's angry at us for making her so tired. I wonder if she's angry at herself for being angry at us.

Nenhum comentário:

Postar um comentário