LemonadeArc
L'Arc
- Sep 11, 2023
- 5
What is left to say? I was Mother's personal project, nothing but a dress-up toy or maybe a simple puppet who she could raise as a perfect child, a perfect spouse.
Everything was planned, orchestrated to be just like her mind conceived, but what I am is far from the expected outcome, an anomaly caused by her own recklessness, her negligence.
I was born out of hatred, not towards a person, but towards the world itself. Mother will never acknowledge her wrongdoings, what she has done to me and to many others.
Mother has forged most of my memories to her advantage, especially one regarding a nasty burn I suffered as a child. "An accident" she said, but there was this lingering feeling that says it might be far from truth. And the things I do remember, are simply tossed away like they are a bunch of lies.
She was never there, something that to this day I try to justify. She was fortunate enough to land a job as a manager at some local bank, an enviroment that was no good for her. It probably destroyed her mentally through the course of almost 20 years. I never got to experience time with her, I spent most of my day at school and was forced to sleep way before she arrived from work. Due to certain problems she had to quit her work, nowadays she is always home, but it feels to late, I have grown not to trust her.
She has controlled my life up to this date, forced to be a perfect student which went terribly wrong just before I graduated, obligued
to look just like her ideal boy, forced to learn how to be the best husband. I never had a voice in choosing what I wanted, not even dreams, she destroyed all of them with harsh words that to this day haunt my soul.
Now she wants me to further my studies at some university, but I do not find a reason to do so. I could probably choose whatever there is to choose, but I lack dreams, I lack a real reason to be there other than occupying a space.
Even if I choose something, I will never be confortable with myself. I would be living behind the image she crafted for me, not who I wish to be. One true memory I treasure from my convoluted early years is related to a certain painting by Goya, to put it simply, it was a woman. It awakened something withing me, I found myself wanting to be like her, to look like her, to be the same as her. But I was born a boy, and I despised myself for thinking like that. Mother had three children, two women and me, each from a different father. What could have happened if her only boy suddenly felt like he wasn't meant to be one? I thought I would destroy her, so I kept it for myself for almost a decade until I met someone who I could trust with it. The agonizing days that I had to endure as my body grew far from what I really wanted kept me with the thought of CTB on my mind.
And it is still there, nothing has changed. I still lack the guts to tell mother the only thing I want from this life, I don't want her to hate me, is the last thing I want. I never found myself to hate her, I yearn for her love, I just want to feel loved by her at least for one time.
I am now at a crossroad, pondering to myself if there is something left for me, but the thought of me being able to end it at any given moment does not stop.
Everything was planned, orchestrated to be just like her mind conceived, but what I am is far from the expected outcome, an anomaly caused by her own recklessness, her negligence.
I was born out of hatred, not towards a person, but towards the world itself. Mother will never acknowledge her wrongdoings, what she has done to me and to many others.
Mother has forged most of my memories to her advantage, especially one regarding a nasty burn I suffered as a child. "An accident" she said, but there was this lingering feeling that says it might be far from truth. And the things I do remember, are simply tossed away like they are a bunch of lies.
She was never there, something that to this day I try to justify. She was fortunate enough to land a job as a manager at some local bank, an enviroment that was no good for her. It probably destroyed her mentally through the course of almost 20 years. I never got to experience time with her, I spent most of my day at school and was forced to sleep way before she arrived from work. Due to certain problems she had to quit her work, nowadays she is always home, but it feels to late, I have grown not to trust her.
She has controlled my life up to this date, forced to be a perfect student which went terribly wrong just before I graduated, obligued
to look just like her ideal boy, forced to learn how to be the best husband. I never had a voice in choosing what I wanted, not even dreams, she destroyed all of them with harsh words that to this day haunt my soul.
Now she wants me to further my studies at some university, but I do not find a reason to do so. I could probably choose whatever there is to choose, but I lack dreams, I lack a real reason to be there other than occupying a space.
Even if I choose something, I will never be confortable with myself. I would be living behind the image she crafted for me, not who I wish to be. One true memory I treasure from my convoluted early years is related to a certain painting by Goya, to put it simply, it was a woman. It awakened something withing me, I found myself wanting to be like her, to look like her, to be the same as her. But I was born a boy, and I despised myself for thinking like that. Mother had three children, two women and me, each from a different father. What could have happened if her only boy suddenly felt like he wasn't meant to be one? I thought I would destroy her, so I kept it for myself for almost a decade until I met someone who I could trust with it. The agonizing days that I had to endure as my body grew far from what I really wanted kept me with the thought of CTB on my mind.
And it is still there, nothing has changed. I still lack the guts to tell mother the only thing I want from this life, I don't want her to hate me, is the last thing I want. I never found myself to hate her, I yearn for her love, I just want to feel loved by her at least for one time.
I am now at a crossroad, pondering to myself if there is something left for me, but the thought of me being able to end it at any given moment does not stop.
