Angry Tears.

Sometimes I wonder if my mother has completely forgotten what it means to be a mum. Sometimes I wonder if she ever remembers what it is like to be on the recieving end. She is the only one that can bring me down to a self-dispising wreck of tears and anger. She is the only one that can make me feel this way and I hate it.

I try so hard not to cry when she puts these situations on me... When I tell her what she's done wrong, and she always comes out with "well if it makes you feel better to think that...", that's when I try not to show her how much she hurts me. I hate her. Yet I hate myself more for it. 

When I say that I hate her, I hate myself for not meaning it as much as I want to. I hate the fact that I love her. I know that I'd be so much healthier, so much happier, so much more myself, if she wasn't around. I've tried to find out about possible foster care before, but at my age I've been told it's rare. 


So I have no hope left. 


Two years from now I may well be happy living alone at university, or whatever it is I'm doing. If I survive that long.






But don't worry, I haven't eaten today. Perhaps it's all you care about, over this cyber dimension. Lives don't matter so long as calorie intake is low and body weights are lower? Or perhaps I've got it all wrong. I don't even know.


I'll blog later, when I haven't been reduced to this pityful state.


Think thin, twigs can fly and all that stuff.


Hazel.