I’m an estranged daughter. Tomorrow is Mother’s Day. I used to bring my Mum flowers, write her cards, make fun crafts in my school to give to her, I made her those “Best Mum in the World” and I meant them— I’d never had another Mum to compare.
So, here I am, 1:00 in the morning, crying pathetically to myself because I miss being somebody’s little girl. You’re 16 years old, grow up. Go to bed. My mother has been treated for Depression, though she’s never told me herself, and I’m taking pills for anxiety, depression, and bipolar disorder: something she’d never approve of. The irony is, I’ve inherited this all from her. She left before I’d lost two baby teeth. She tried a couple times to find a place in my life, or find a place for me in her big picture, but for one reason or another, it’s really never worked out for us.
I’m basically just a horrible daughter and a horrible friend and a horrible student– that’s all.
I’m a horrible person.
I’ve always been morbid, when I was little (from early elementary school to middle school) I used to read the obituaries in the paper, and then, when I got my own computer, online. After my sixth birthday party was interrupted by an 8-legged crasher– a black widow– I developed an early obsession with poison. Then, I saw Harold and Maude when I was 10 and became obsessed with the romance of suicide. I kept a journal, documenting the various deaths I’d read, and collected obituaries that I found particularly interesting.
I’ve never had many friends in school, as I’ve always been a bit of a weirdo, being a tomboy from day one… collecting black widows, that sort of fun.
Now, I guess I have plenty of great friends who have none of the same problems as I do for the most part, especially since half of the trouble is probably all in my head– things tend to become magnified in there, like expectations, oh expectations. I’ve learned my lesson there.
Well, in any case… I’ve just been creeping about the internet, reading heartwarming stories about wonderful mother-daughter relationships, I guess I must be a masochist. I guess I am a lot of things, and one of them is death fixation.
I’ve been thinking about suicide a lot lately, but recently something has changed, and I’m not quite so desperate.
I’m just depressed right now, and no amount of Prozac is going to cure this genuine sort of situation based depression.
Just thinking and thinking.
1 comment
Hello
Definitively, the pain of childhood, the lost of a mother, devastates and hurts awful a lot. You are not bipolar and you are not any weirdo at all in the very least. On the contrary you are a beautiful person who has suffered awful lot, and like many, many, many others, are reacting in pain just like I have, many have and many will.
You are still young, and you have already learned a lot. Dont think that this suffering has been for nothing, that nothing good has come out of it. You will see what a wonderful boyfriend and husband one day you are going to find. Keep this writing in your collection because some day, along the years, you will remember it.
Once your boyfriend learns how you are, there is no way he will let you go, and he will give you the love of your mother plus his all together.
No horrible person writes the way you do, no horrible person expresses that sensitivity and pain with so much reality. On the contrary, you can love yourself a lot.
I am devastated every time I read children suffering of things like that, because the injustice just drains me. But at least, at least there are some persons in the world who truly are worth, and this is what teaches you, teaches us, what really is important. Dont cry any more please, because somewhere, somewhere is the boyfriend and man of your life. It will take time, the better you are as a person, the longer it will take, but the greater the reward will be.
Hugs