My mom had a mental disease that warped the way she interpreted reality. As a result, she ended up pushing literally everyone away, sometimes intentionally sometimes not.
I ended up having to move in with her after falling on hard times and it was the nightmare one would expect. But see, I convinced myself that my mom wasn't fighting hard enough to see what she was doing. I convinced myself she didn't care when in reality all she spent the past few years doing was reaching out to me, except I was too busy for her.
Too busy holding onto bullshit, too busy trying to drag myself towards my goals, too busy trying to escape my own anxiety and perpetual misery. I told myself that my mother was the one who not only showed me how weak and unprepared for adulthood I was but that she also showed me, through her actions, who I really needed to prioritize in life.
All that sounded great in theory, but just like always, my theories, my plans fall to goddamn pieces at the first opportunity.
I look back now and see a beautiful vibrant intelligent woman who loved me and was all but begging for help but didn't know how to ask and what she mustered to fell on deaf ears.
When I was very small we would watch movies and tv shows and the hero would always save his mom/the girl/his family. These protagonists were plucky and under prepared, sure, but they never gave up on those that mattered to them. They never ran away to become stronger because they were too weak--they certainly never lost it all *while* they were trying to turn it all around.
So, I failed. What I was supposed to be failed. My house failed. Our dreams failed. I mean I imagine the looks on our faces if someone went back in time to tell us how we ended up...
I don't really need to be alive anymore, but I'm young and recently turned myself from approaching whatever-is-right-under-morbid obesity to pretty healthy/fit overall so, I likely won't be dropping dead anytime soon.
Id do it myself, I would but here's the thing: God/the universe/whomever is pretty content to just bat me around like a goddamn chew toy...what do you think happens when that chew toy stops playing along? What do you think happens to all that targeted vitriol--do you think it just dissipates, shrugs it's metaphorical shoulders and looks for the next poor fucker to torment?
I don't. I think it's more out of the frying pan into the fire. I think whatever the goddamn fuck decided to corrupt the uneaten remaining portion of my soul would/will be all too happy to welcome me to eternal torment. So I'm stuck here, without my mom, wishing there were a way to wipe away every fragment of my existence, soul included