I do hate my mother for all the things she has done to me. Like when she destroyed my dollhouse- she pushed me onto it and beat me up because I ate
several tiny chocolates from a Christmas calendar. Or when she told me in public, in front of my father: 'Clean your room for real or I will kill you'- funny thing, because she is messy, her room, bathroom and kitchen are filled with her crap, all dirty; in fact only my room is clean. Ironic, huh? Or when I tried to commit suicide and she told the psychiatrist that I deserved to be beaten, so what's the big deal? Or when she always take the side of anyone who hurts me, it's always my fault. We're Catholics and she told me last Sunday she has a problem with the confession because she can't recall any of her sins- she thinks she's perfect, of course. I was this close to exploding and giving her my list of her sins. She never noticed I was sexually abused at home, none of my strange behaviours that would indicate this were noticed. Or my self-harming- unlike most of cutters, I don't have to hide my wounds or razorblades because no one sees that anyway. I wish her ill, I hate her. Evil parents apparently don't know they would be old some day and then their children would take care of them- or not, or the children would be as evil as their parents were.