As years go by, I have noticed that I am slowly turning like my Mother. The woman I detest, my daily dose of nightmare (asleep or awake, and my very own definition of a monster.
I still remember it perfectly well when I was 6, she asked me for a simple sorry because of a small childish mistake, I said sorry a couple of times, but her anger won’t lie low, she literally kicked me out of the house and that was when open doors started to bother me. That was when I learned that life is not easy. That was when all negativity grew inside me. I am a cynic, because my mother moulded me to be one.
There was once a time where me and my little sister were playing in the shower, I kind of teased her so she started crying, I know it was my fault. But getting beat up naked as a kid outside your house with metal-tipped belt was rather too much of a punishment. That was when I started counting my bruises. That was when I learned that her discipline is nowhere near her love for me, if ever she does.
And, because of my mother I learned that emotional pain is the most painful. The physical pain I felt was of little value compared to the mental pain she caused me. When I was 8, I accidentally lost the money she gave me (or someone at school might took it) I received a couple of slap and that’s not even the worst! She finally broke her silence. She broke my little puny soul with just a couple of words.
“I should’ve known that you are useless and a stress to me, I would’ve killed you when you were still inside me! God knows how much I want to even now.”
I watched her turn into a fire spitting monster at that very moment. With her every word I burn and there’s no saving me. I could state a lot of bad things my mother did to me, but I won’t. Not just yet.
I somehow understand why she’s full of hatred over me. I’m an accident, a baby she never wanted. Fresh out of college, 20 years old, my mother got me and I can perfectly tell that I ruined her awful life. But it wasn’t my fault! I’m not the one who slept with someone I do not even want to call my dad. My dad left, he’s in Boston with his other family. He supports my financial needs but can never fill my longing for a father. I hate the both of them.
But why am I becoming my mother?
I noticed that I have a short temper like the short tempered woman she is, I am starting to hate kids (except my brothers or not), I lost my virginity at 15 with some guy I don’t even care about, I am a vengeful freak, I break things, I love to hurt people emotionally, and this desire to hurt everyone is growing inside me.
And the worst is this itchy goal that sometimes keeps me up at night, I want to kill her. I want to kill my mother in exchange for all the pain she caused me, in exchange for breaking my heart, for showing me that life is never good, for stopping me to be happy, for infecting my little brain that can only think of negativity, and for this depression and how it’s killing me slowly.
I am becoming my mother. Someday, someone will detest me, I will be someone’s daily dose of nightmare (asleep or awake) and I am my own definition of a monster.
Written by Jel Pamela