I would love to say that my life is happy and wonderful all the time. Or that my problems are few and fleeting and I can manage to get past them with the forced smile, having it end up only a little bump in the road. But that's not my lot in life. It never was. I was born from an affair, and though my birthmother had the best intentions for my life, she chose a couple where the woman was an obesseve-compulsive bitch that didn't want me to begin with and only did it because her husband (my dad) wanted a baby. Maybe in the beginning she thought she could mold me into a mini version of herself like she had done with her other daughter. I grew up hearing just how perfect she was compared to me (and she's at least 22 years older than me). I also heard what a slob I was. How I never listened. That I was a brat . . . that I was fat. Yeah, that was a big one. Always another diet . . . No wonder I was suicidal when I was just 9-10 years old. During my teens, she made my life hell. When I'd told her I'd been molested - about 10 years after the fact, her words to me were, "I told you not to let anyone touch you!" And to this day, she STILL sees nothing wrong in that statement.
But this goes way beyond teenage stuff. I am bipolar. She has never accepted it. Never tried to understand it. She has never tried to help me keep the symptoms under control . . . Instead, her house, her house, her house . . . Her house is more important that anyone or anything living in it. It's always been about her HOUSE. Who cares about anyone! The HOUSE has to look like a museum!
And so, today is my daughter's 11th birthday. You'd think she'd actually be NICE . . . Well, not my mother . . . She starts in on my AND my daughter about everything she can. Just today, she's caused Cassie to cry at least three separate times . . . threated to kick us out. Told me that I was a liar and a thief! When I confronted her about the thief part, you know what she had to say? That I'm a thief of her time!!! WHAT?! So I told her if I was, she was just as bad! I mean, don't you think, if I could I would be GONE! If I had the money I would be so out of here. She would NEVER hear from me again. No her, not my siblings . . . no one in her fricken little family! I HATE THEM ALL! If I had any alternative other than a shelter, I would take it. But all I have is my kids and my things - some of which I've had since I was a kid. To lose those would be losing that last bit of me that still exists.
And besides trying not to cry myself, all I can think of . . . all I can dream of when I close my eyes is cutting myself . . . Just cutting on myself to see the blood come out. Believe it or not, it calms me down. It's twisted, but true. I've only resorted to that once and I put MYSELF in the hospital. But I feel so close to that line right now. Do you think she cares? No . . . In fact, I think she would love to see me go over the edge . . . lose the kids . . . be on the streets or at least come begging her for whatever she wants . . . I guess to give her my soul for whatever acceptance she'll dole out, which is NOTHING. This might be all personal and sound like I'm just whining and feeling sorry for myself . . . but you have no idea what I go through. I try so hard to hang on. It takes so much out of me just to get through a single day . . . and I get no help in staying stable. In fact, I am only continually destabilized here.
As it is, I am considering going to the ER and if nothing else having them give me something to calm me down. My lower back is killing me too. This has just been a shitty day all around. I don't know how much worse it could have gotten for Cassie and I . . . except having my mother die and being left at my sister's bidding. I hate them so much . . . I would leave and go away and never come back. I am not staying because I want anything from her when she dies. I have what I want from her actually. I just want to go away and leave these people far behind before I hurt myself or god-forbid someone else.
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