Today is Mother's Day here in the states, where so few have so much, and so many have so little. Here is my Mother's Day message to my mother: FUCK YOU! I'm also sending that out to all the other shitty mothers: fuck you too. I hate my mother. It makes sense to hate your parents. They brought you into a world of violence, misery, pain, and shit.
Mother's Day and Father's Day are very backwards "holidays." Instead of honoring biological (I have absolutely nothing against good adoptive parents.) mothers and fathers on these days, perhaps we should beat the shit out of them instead. That would make more sense.
I was gonna write this post anyway, but, before I left work, I had to deal with 2 assholes, which only solidified my position that my mother is a cunt that deserves to be hated.
Also today, as I walked by some Canadian geese, one of them hissed at me. It was because she was worried about her babies. She was warning me to stay away from them. I smiled at her and told her she had nothing to worry about. She's a much better mother than mine ever was.
I'll tell a little story about my mother. Only a few years ago, I had moved in with my mother because I needed help. I had tried to commit suicide, so I thought my policy of being alone might not be working. Anyway, I was walking down the street I had grown up on. Just before I reached my mother's house, some guy in a car stopped me. "Excuse me," he said. "But we've been having some burglaries on this street lately. What are you doing here?" I don't remember exactly what he said, but ti was definitely something like that. It must have seemed so strange to see someone walking when most fat asses wouldn't dream of doing that: just drive everywhere. So this asshole obviously thinks he has more rights that the police do.
I pointed at the house I grew up in, and said, "That's my mother's house. I grew up here." Then he backed off. I know I was pissed off, as I had every right to be, so I said something that made him give me a dirty look and say, "Okay, okay, " as though I was the asshole: not him. That's when my mother made the scene. She's an attention whore. She saw me talking to someone, and she had to get involved. She desperately needs attention. The situation was explained to her, but instead of being angry at the man for accusing her son of being a criminal, she had a friendly chat with him, because attention is more important to her than her son is.
You might be thinking, that's not so bad. Well, I know my mother, and I know she's stupid, lazy, uncaring, and selfish.
I'll tell another story about her. As a teen, I was molested by a male family member because she failed to protect me. She knew he was gay, but she allowed him to sleep in the same room as me. Now, I know that being gay doesn't make you a child molester, but this one was. I told no one about it until after he died. Then I told my mother. Every time I mentioned it to her, I've been disappointed with her reactions. I don't know if she doesn't believe me or what the problem is. When I went to stay with her, after my suicide attempt, I saw a certain picture displayed proudly on her bookcase: a framed photo of my molester. It wasn't just him; his sisters were in it too, but what sort of a mother would display a picture of her son's molester in her home? I confronted her about it, and she acted like she couldn't believe how jerky I was acting as she waddled her fat ass over to the photo and put it in a drawer. What a piece of shit.
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