Fuck My Mother

My Room
Mutherfucking Pissed Off
Venting vis LOUD Shostakovitch
3:48 pm
Thursday, November 18, 2004

Fuck My Mother

You reading this bitch? Do I have you attention? Good.
There are some things we need to clear up.

You don't fucking know me.

Instead of ever attempting to know me as a person, an individual subjective entity, you have created a mental construct of what, in your twisted opinion, I should be. Ever since I got kicked out of Brookhill, you' ve decided that I'm a bad person, and that's just false. Instead of attempting to approach me interpersonally, you insist on spying, snooping and prying to gather information, and then taking this twisted picture and apply it to you contrived construct, where I always fall short.

Well no fucking shit. A construct, I might add, that is built entirely of negative forms, supported by your ridiculous view of the world, and continued based on your continual negative judgements. Instead of considering that your take of the situation may be wrong (because God knows, that could never happen) you try to force me, guilt me into being what you wish
I was.

And I'm tired of it.

Have you ever thought that I'm happy as I am? That I love me? Rememebr when you put me in therapy? I learned one lesson that has been of endless value to me: You're fucked up. I would sit and talk to the therapist, and after a couple of days she told me that most of my problems stem from trying to make my mother happy. She said that that was a bad idea because what you wanted were conveluded ideas that are at the root distructive. She sat me down, looked me in the face and said,

"No matter what your mother ever thinks, You Are A Good Person. You have it all figured out more then a vast majority of the people I work with, adult or child. And your mother's stupid for not seeing that. Don't even live you life for her. She's unhappy, and therefore, you will never make her happy. You don't need her approval, and I don't think you necesssarily want it. Forget her. You Are a Good Person."

And she's right. Remember how she then told you that she wanted you to start coming to see her? You didn't like that very much now did you?

Remember when you read my journal as a "way to get to know" me since I never talked to you? How well did that work? What makes you think this would?

You've always resented the fact that I love Dad more and am closer to him and Jaynie then I'll ever be to you. That's becasue as some point in my development they stopped treating me as an object that they could manipulate and took me as a person. We developed friendships, and they help me more then they know by offering me advice, support and understanding as another person in this world trying to live life the bast way I can. You on the other hand. . .

I used to get so jealous going to my friend houses and seeing these mothers that took actually joy in watching their children become their own independent people, excited that they would get to know this wonderful individual, wanting to help them on that journey in anyway possible. They realized that the raising part of their job was over, and the best thing to do is to be a resource, a supportive place to go for advice, solace, and comfort. You have never been that. Istead, you treat me like a burden, a hassle, unworthy of your time energy and love.

And that is also not true. Did you know that almost every time I talk to you, right after I call Dad and ask him, "Why is mom mean? Why does she act like I'm a huge drain? " You treat me as if I'm a fuck-up, with no direction, who just constantly asks you for things because I am unwilling to provide for myself.

Let's look at this objectively. I'm in college. In fact, I'm at the top rated academic college in the nation, studying sociology in the greatest sociological departement in the world. I'm on the Dean's list, vice president of the Texas Club and my House, working 15 hours a week for a non-profit tutoring program. Oh, and when I'm not sick, I volunteer with my fraternity on Saturdays. I don't do these things to be anything, I do these things because they are the objective results of who I am as a person. I call you to ask for book money, and you treat me like I'm asking for money to blow on ski trips. If I could live the rest of my life and never ask your for money, I would.


Did you know that when you call, my friends stop talking, and look at me compassionatly, waiting for me cry. You called the other day to accuse me of "losing focus" as opposed to having a medical problem. Maybe if you had read my blog more recently you would know that it kills me that I'm behind, that learning is what I do, and no being able to do it is horrible.
But of course, that wouldn't fit in your construct of me.

Because there I'm an ungrateful, partying slacker who drains you money and basically doesn't have their shit together.

Yes, I do party. I'll tell you like I told my prospies last year: we all work so hard during the week that we cut lose on the weekends. Unlike you: I know when to stop. I can and do keep my life in balance, something that takes time, work and energy.

I realized a couple of years ago that I don't like you as a person. If you weren't my mom, would I want to know you, learn from you, be your friend? No. You wonder why I don't visit? Because I'm force to spend the entire time either defending my mode of existence to you, despite the fact you don't have a clue what you're talking about most of the time, like most everything you state in regards to me, or having to constantly be aware of you disapproval as I continue to not fit into what you think I should be.

I hate your suspicision, you distrust, your lack of faith in me as a person. I have no trust, and equally no respect for you. You're a controlling, manipulative, judgemental, money grubbing bitch who speaks without knowing, and gets insulted when that's pointed out. There are so many time that I hold my tongue around you, about to correct your behavior or ask, why you were so pointlessly mean, because YOU RAISED ME BETTER THEN THAT. But what good would that do?

You're probably sitting there thinking I don't know what I"m talking about, but remember: this is what I'm trained to do, see things in terms of form and intended action. This is what the government is paying for me to learn. Part of the reason I choose to study as I do is to understand you. And I do. Whether you think my claims are true or not in no way takes away from the validity of my arguement.

So, Fuck My Mother.
Am I bitting, mean? I learned from the best: You.

Oh, and I'm not fucking pregnant.