I Hate My Mother
Hate is a strong word, I know, but with all my being, I hate my mother. She has done nothing good for me in all of my nineteen years of living. I have gone through absolute h*** with her. For so many years, I have told myself that I could never hate the person who gave me life. It would be wrong. However, it is all too possible to hate that woman. With every fiber of your being, you can hate her.
Mother to me is a soiled word. I am jealous of people who can say, "This is my mother" with a big smile on their face. There is no hesitation, no resistance from their lips. "Mother" comes out so smoothly for them. And very syllable has love written all over them. Even as a child Mother seemed to be an inappropriate word to use. She wasn't someone I could trust, or believe in. I've always had a distaste for her. Is it even possible for a child to feel this way? Somehow I always knew she would be no good for me. From the very beginning, and possibly to the very end.
It's hard to love someone that you can't have faith in. There is no trust nor honesty within this family. Without these, there can not be love. Would you love someone who has stolen everything from you? Not just material possessions, but your very soul? I don't believe anyone could; not even a saint. Even the word love brings a bad taste to my mouth. I can not love anything, because I can no longer trust anyone with even the smallest of possessions or self.
I have become such a hatful person because of her. I am alone because I find every person I meet to be guilty of some crime. I am bitter because I can only see the world in black & white.