Diary #3

“There are some stuff that we would rather keep to ourselves  by respect to the people who, in their ways, helped/held our hands through the beginning of life.

But, mother, you can go fck yourself.

Father, you and your disappointed and dispising eyes, can go fck yourselves too.

I am so overwhelmed by my mother’s sociopathic sickness that it almost stains my own sanity ; I’ve realised that every single things I hate from her got into me too. So I guess I’m going to get there at some point. Unless I completely cut all bonds or other contact left with her. Which is hard. It is hard to break bonds with someone who gave you life, who you know loves you. But truth is, she loves me but she doesn’t care at all about breaking me. She actually feeds her broken ego with the sound of my breaking bones. Like those people who need to torture to feel their power. It feels like I was born for her to hate me. 

She wants to break me, because she is broken, and knowing her mother herself who is the devil, it can only be it. I started wondering if she was a monster or if she was just crazy. And I’d rather believe that she is crazy. One fact calming every theories made me feel very sorry for my mother : she herself has been raised, destroyed and owned by her own mother, my grandmother, the devil. Has she ever been to her senses while I was growing up? or was I always born for her to hate me?

Also note : a decade with my father’s expectations, and disappointed words might have broken some other things or dug the hole of her misery, the way it dug mine. She tried to make us look like a family. She brought us to holidays and everything and she would say, driving the car “Well kids, we do not have a reunited family but know that even if your father is not travelling with us, we are still a family able to enjoy their holidays”. She would tell me she loved me only when she (unconsciously) knows that she has serious leverage on my nerves and feelings. When she was hurting me. 

Yes, I am truly sad for her because at this point of life she has been crushed into pieces, and she might be no longer here, in her head. Life has been awful with its laws and it drives me insane by just thinking about this.

What can you call fair? I have tried everything so far to make her, us feel good together : opening up, hugging her (in vain), talk to her, even patience, but again, patience in this case would cost my sanity, or the same price as a battered wife or husband. I have tried everything. But the only thing I face is a shell deprived (I still pray that it is not true) of a soul trying to recover with a huge amount of ego. 

I hate what she is now. I refuse to end like this. I refuse to end like her.

I need to end this. “

To be continued

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