June 29, 2009

Well, I just had the “Ungrateful Daughter Talk” again. My mother has no idea…


She just thinks that she is faultless. She is completely perfect. She can do no wrong.


Well, that’s a bunch of bull. Isn’t a mother supposed to unconditionally love her child? I can’t remember the last time she told me she loved me. Or gave me a kiss goodbye. Or told me I was pretty. Instead, she constantly nags me about my hair, my makeup, my clothes, and my weight. To her, I’m just her fat, ugly daughter. As she went on another rant today about how much weight I’ve put on over the past year–wait, let’s go back a year. Last year, I was in the grips of an eating disorder. I was eating under 500 calories a day to maintain my weight! I would not eat for periods of days. I finally helped myself recover and began eating relatively normally, but with that came weight gain. Twenty pounds in a year. It’s a lot, but it was needed. I now am much healthier, not a skeleton.


But my mother preferred the skeleton, I guess. I felt most loved when I was starving. And now, I’m just a disappointment.


So now, after I asked my mother to stop commenting on my body, telling her that she was killing my self esteem, she snapped. She went into a whirlwind rant about how I don’t appreciate her, how I don’t thank her, how I don’t do anything for her. “I have feelings, too,” she said, “and you trampled over them.” And don’t you think you trampled mine as well? Every day you remind me of how I’m not good enough, not pretty enough. I see other girls’ moms telling them they look beautiful, even if they have a zit or two or if they weigh 30 pounds more than me. And I can tell that the mothers are not lying; they believe it. I’m jealous of friends who give their parents a kiss as they walk out the door. They can actually do that. I can’t; my mom would pull away.


I’ve grown up in an affectionless house. It’s sad, but true.


I came across an email from my grandfather to my mother. He told her to be easier on us and on my father; she was driving all of us away with her antics. She needed to be kinder, more loving, less harsh. She didn’t even bother to respond. And she didn’t change. She’s still the same, and it gets worse every day.


I remember when I was little. My mom told me that my aunt would take care of me if anything happened to her and Dad. I wished something would, as awful as that sounds. My aunt kissed me and hugged me and told me I was beautiful, no matter how awful I felt. I wondered how two sisters could be so different. I wondered if something traumatic had happened to my mom as a child. Middle child syndrome, I decided.


And now, here I sit. I don’t want to leave my room to face Momzilla. I’ll just sit here a while, wishing things were different…


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