Update: My relationship with my mother is a lot better now. This post was written on 24-Oct-15:
“Close. The. Computer,” Mon pointed her finger at the screen. I didn’t like it. I tried to show on my face I was upset by how she approached me. She stood as stiff as her face and put her hand on my shoulder, not in a loving way but in a “get your ass off” kind of way, invading my personal space :I it all showed she wouldn’t take no for an answer.
BTW If you’re a long-time reader, you know where this is heading. If you’re reading a post about my relationship with Mom for the first time, I’ll look like a shameless, rebellious child to you. Probably. This happened last night. Anyhow…. Okay to continue….
“Not now.” I replied. She got defensive and told me I needed to get off the computer, again in her stiff, demanding voice. I said, “I am not using the internet. I am just writing”. ……Anyhow, I took her pointed finger and drew it down. “Not now.” That obviously made her mad and she scolded me.
Mom tried a new tactic. She asked if I should push the date of my exams further, in a serious tone. I told her quite that the exam time is during mid-year, we can wait till then to see if I am prepared enough to register. To explain the registration situation- once you register for A’ Levels, you can’t take it back….well…we can’t. It’s expensive for us. So it was important I registered for the right time and that is good to do when I know I am prepared for it. And we have a whole half year ahead of us before that.
Mom didn’t like my composed response. She ignored me and repeated her question. I told her that I saw she was trying to pressurize me into spending less time writing. Then she beat on the table, hunched over the keyboard and criticized, “If I do not pressurize you, do you EVER do ANYTHING!?” She then went to bed and angrily told me to take away the books from there.
Okay, I guess I haven’t gotten over what happened last night yet; I can’t write without stopping to breathe. It’s hard when I feel rigid. Okay, anyway..
Of course, crying in front of Mom is never f*cking good. She guilt-trips into saying you forgive her. Yes, GUILT-TRIPS you into forgiving her, every time. And I was doing a good job of hiding my tears as she was behind me lying on the bed, but she knew me enough from the way I sulked as I got up from the computer. “Yeah, and now you’re going to start crying. It’s like you can NEVER take anything I say!”
I went to the balcony and cried for more than an hour. I could have cried more but Mom came in to apologize after a long, long time. I told her why she was pressurizing me, especially when I do the best I can. She said she “wasn’t pressurizing” me. Yeah. Cool. Mom is mostly the reason lost confidence in the value of my thoughts; she makes me believe my sense of reality is flawed by rejecting sh*t she does. I told her to shut up and went away and cried a f*cking lot more. Her rejecting made me more depressed. I thought of killing myself. I couldn’t bear be such a mental disappointment to her and myself. My eyes are watering right now. I didn’t want to live if I was going to cry that easily.
I was able to feel and not feel my depression at the same time. It was like some defense-mechanism was going on internally; I couldn’t breathe properly. I thought of the knife in our kitchen, I thought if it would be easy to stab myself. “Would it take a long time?” I thought. I then wondered what would happen if I was hospitalized immediately after such an attempt and woke up alive. My entire life would be different. People wouldn’t take me any more seriously if they knew I attempted suicide. What would future husband do if I decide to get married? He might be afraid to even say sh*t because I was a mere anomaly. I thought about it all, I wondered how much it would physically hurt. I then thought about what Mom would think. At first it felt good that I could take revenge on her but then I felt sad, thinking how guilty she would feel; she would blame herself for the rest of her life. Etc. Etc. Etc. I prayed to God to take away my soul fast.
It took the whole night for me to “recover”. I was sad. Grieving. I am still sad. Last night’s incident prompted Mom to make an appointment with Dr. Mental. Of course, Dr. Mental asked stupid questions in front my parents like if I felt “deep anguish” or whatnot. I said “No” because my parents were sitting right f*cking there! Not like the doctor didn’t know about my problems already, but this was a homeopathic doctor. I felt sick while being in his office. There were people registering right beside the Doctor’s table. This Doctor has a constant supply of patients (read: cash), why doesn’t he bother getting his own office? My Mom was sitting there talking loudly about my obsession with sh*t. And then she indirectly complained, again, about how I can focus on writing but not on my studies. So I had to get defensive.
“Writing is EASY. I just write whatever comes to my mind,” I explained, “But with studying, I have to think a lot. There’s theoretical things in there I need to understand. I have a hard time bearing all that in my head”. NOW the doctor got me. “Okay, so you’re unable to focus and think for that?”
“Okay. I will call you back.”
So that was it. I was publicly treated as some mental kid who didn’t want to study. It’s still scary to accept I don’t have full control of my mind. And then this happens. The people registering beside us started to listen intently once my loud Mom got in on it. Those people tried to look nonjudgmental, but I could tell they were curious about what was wrong with my head. They stopped looking once Mom was done talking about my mental issues and went on to talk about my physical problems. Yeah, that was one clue to what they wanted to hear more of.
I felt so sad. I was sulking all over the place. I couldn’t even sit in the hall-way; I moped about till the doctor called us in for the medicine. I haven’t had the medicine yet. I wonder how “normal” it will make me. F*ck, I feel like a sociopath who disobeys her mother by not studying.