Mother, Why Am I Not Good Enough? (TW: If you struggle with the whole Verbal/Emotional abuse(?) thing, probs shouldn’t read this, but here’

Am I just not good enough for you,

Mother?

Am I just not the perfect daughter you want me to be?

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry that I just can't fit into the mold you created for me.

See,

The thing is,

I don't want to be your carbon copy.

Because even though I love you,

I resent you.

I really do.

And I hate that feeling,

You know?

That burning bitterness in my heart every time you say my name,

Thinking, 

"Here we go again"

Because every time you talk to me,

It's because I've done something wrong.

Because you find something about me you don't like. 

That's not up-to-par with your idea of perfection.

You have my crying in the shower,

You know.

Is this the kind of power you want?

The kind that hold me back against my will?

The controlling type?

I know you didn't grow up in a good home,

Mother.

But I'm so sick of dealing with your brat-ishness.

Those beauty standards like those of society. 

I'm sorry I'm not a twig,

That I have curves more than you think I should.

I'm sorry that I have the kind of friends you would never have.

I'm sorry that I don't bend to your will right away.

I'm sorry that I cry when I'm sad.

I'm sorry that I want to do my own thing.

I'm sorry that I want to leave;

To run away and never return.

I'm sorry that I'm so angry.

I'm sorry that I'm so anxious.

I'm sorry that my grades aren't perfect A's 100% of the time.

I'm sorry that I'm stressed.

Stop telling me to talk to you,

Mother.

Stop telling me to share with you every secret of mine, 

Every thought and feeling.

Because the days that were rough,

And I finally explained my opinions and emotions,

You make me feel invalid.

Snide remarks about my weight make me feel like a pig.

Makes me want to stop eating.

Comments on my black liner,

Make me feel ugly.

Snippets of conversations I hear about my way of dress,

Which let me say,

Is just your clothes worn differently,

Makes me feel like un-modest when I know that I am.

Just stop,

Mother.

If I want to cry in peace,

Let me.

Don't ask questions where they're not wanted.

Don't talk to people about how great I am and then tell me I'm disgusting.

Don't act like the perfect mother when all you do is yell at me and make me self-conscious. 

I'm sorry,

Mother.

For not hugging you when I needed to be alone.

I'm sorry I made you cry.

Stop treating me like a child,

Mother,

When you expect me to be an adult.

I hate it,

Mother.

I really do.

Do you notice that?

I don't say Mom anymore.

I just coldly say "Mother" because that's all the fight I have in me now.

I'm terribly sorry,

If I'm the problem.

But after discussion with my therapist,

My cousins,

My aunts and uncles,

My great-grandmother,

And my best friends (Which are more of a family to me than you)

They've all determined that you are,

Indeed,

A problem.

And I don't know how to tell you that.

For years,

Mother,

I've told you repeatedly that I don't like it here.

That I can't talk to you.

That you make me feel gross.

That you're so demanding and childish and negative.

Perhaps it's time 

To tell you.

That I'm breaking.

Because your grip on me is too tight.

You need to let me go.

(For anyone who struggles in a bad home situation, or even struggles relationship wise with one of their parental figures, I send my love and hopes and prayers. Know that you are not alone, and that there's always someone willing to listen. <3)