I love my mum
but she has very effectively made my whole existence miserable.
Ever since I was 6, she has made me hate who I am, screwed me over at every opportunity, told me I’m never good enough, turned my siblings against me, given me horrible advice,
and yet still manages to make me feel like shit if I act or say anything against her.
I’m the poor, unloved middle child so I guess I should just get used to it.

We’re complete opposites. Her biggest problem with me began when I was six and had a really bad internal infection. I was pumped full of medications that made me triple in size in two months.
I grew up thick. Not fat, just thick. I could never as a child, lose the bulk.
This drove her crazy.
She’s obsessive about her weight and wears a size 2. Growing up, it was always cokes and candy for my two brothers when we were at the store. For me? “No no, you can have an apple when we get home.” And she wouldn’t even let me have any freakin’ peanut butter to go with it.
My older brother played tennis as a kid then started on the guitar in high school. Private lessons for both.
My younger brother plays baseball and the piano.
Only the best baseball equipment and private piano lessons.
I wanted to learn the piano as a kid. I was laughed at.
I was the “future tennis star.” Retired professional players would come to the courts just to sit and watch me practice as a kid. Everyone told me I had a future.
My mom would sign me up for tournaments, yell at me in front of everyone when I messed up, and after an especially brutal hour of public humiliation, told me she’d never pay for me to take lessons ever again because “she’s not going to waste money on a brat that isn’t going to try.” And she didn’t.
She effectively took away the one thing I was ever good at.
Not to sound completely pathetic, but I’ve never recovered from it.

I have no drive, no ambition. I’ve tried to start the process of making something of myself but in the end nothing works out because deep down inside, I’m just a brat that isn’t going to try.

I could go on for days. Some say I should. I bottle everything up and hide it away until it over flows on nights like this.

I want a purpose.

I have a dream.

I have lots of dreams.

But nothing will come of them.

She’s always going to be two steps behind me,

murmuring her opinions to me.

I love my mum
but she has very effectively made my whole existence miserable.
Ever since I was 6, she has made me hate who I am, screwed me over at every opportunity, told me I’m never good enough, turned my siblings against me, given me horrible advice,
and yet still manages to make me feel like shit if I act or say anything against her.
I’m the poor, unloved middle child so I guess I should just get used to it.

We’re complete opposites. Her biggest problem with me began when I was six and had a really bad internal infection. I was pumped full of medications that made me triple in size in two months.
I grew up thick. Not fat, just thick. I could never as a child, lose the bulk.
This drove her crazy.
She’s obsessive about her weight and wears a size 2. Growing up, it was always cokes and candy for my two brothers when we were at the store. For me? “No no, you can have an apple when we get home.” And she wouldn’t even let me have any freakin’ peanut butter to go with it.
My older brother played tennis as a kid then started on the guitar in high school. Private lessons for both.
My younger brother plays baseball and the piano.
Only the best baseball equipment and private piano lessons.
I wanted to learn the piano as a kid. I was laughed at.
I was the “future tennis star.” Retired professional players would come to the courts just to sit and watch me practice as a kid. Everyone told me I had a future.
My mom would sign me up for tournaments, yell at me in front of everyone when I messed up, and after an especially brutal hour of public humiliation, told me she’d never pay for me to take lessons ever again because “she’s not going to waste money on a brat that isn’t going to try.” And she didn’t.
She effectively took away the one thing I was ever good at.
Not to sound completely pathetic, but I’ve never recovered from it.

I have no drive, no ambition. I’ve tried to start the process of making something of myself but in the end nothing works out because deep down inside, I’m just a brat that isn’t going to try.

I could go on for days. Some say I should. I bottle everything up and hide it away until it over flows on nights like this.

I want a purpose.

I have a dream.

I have lots of dreams.

But nothing will come of them.

She’s always going to be two steps behind me,

murmuring her opinions to me.