Thoughts II

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The ache is undeniable. I share the fragments of what I hold dear in my life with her, and she meets them with disapproval. Yet, when I muster the courage to reveal the moments when I'm drowning in despair, she remains distant. At this point, it would seem logical to distance myself from her judgment, but she's my mother, and I love her deeply. I value her opinion, but her words wound, and it seems impossible to do anything right. Every path I tread is laden with her disappointment, and I'm at a loss. 

I'm stuck between wanting to live life my way and trying to meet her standards, and it seems impossible to do both. The confusion is already overwhelming, and it's exacerbated by the relentless cycle. Each time I pursue something that improves my well-being, she sabotages it with her disapproval. Guilt and the weight of inadequacy drown me every time she calls me an ungrateful daughter. I know that should I voice these feelings, her tears would fall, and she'd question her role as a mother. I don't deny her efforts to being a good mother, but the unintentional infliction of pain persists, and I don't know how to live with it anymore.

Why is it that when I reach out in need, she accuses me of dependence and ingratitude? Yet, when joy blooms within me and I seek to share it with her, she dismantles it with her disapproval, leaving me feeling reluctant to confide in her. 

The truth is, something's often wrong. I usually try hard to handle it on my own as best I can. When the weight becomes unbearable, I retreat to tears, unleash my frustration on inanimate objects, and sometimes, drink more than I should. I wish I could always have my act together and know where I'm headed in life. Yet, even in the midst of introspective journeys, experimenting with substances or burying myself in academic pursuits, the answers elude me.

The clock inches towards the late hours, and here I am, tears flowing, words spilling onto this page. Is it fixing anything? No. But what else is there to do?


T.

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