All Nonfiction Bullying Books Academic Author Interviews Celebrity interviews College Articles College Essays Educator of the Year Heroes Interviews Memoir Personal Experience Sports Travel & CultureAll Opinions Bullying Current Events / Politics Discrimination Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking Entertainment / Celebrities Environment Love / Relationships Movies / Music / TV Pop Culture / Trends School / College Social Issues / Civics Spirituality / Religion Sports / Hobbies
- Summer Guide
- College Guide
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Personal Experience
- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
- Community Service
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
Mother/Daughter relationships are supposed to be close, loving, and trusting.
I have been hurt so many times by her. I give everyone respect until I find a reason to not. I have no respect for her. She is a low person.
She tells me I am not good enough.
She hurts me constantly. We fight every day. I got my quick temper from her. Everyone tells me I am like her, which makes me want to die. I have a scar on my wrist which reminds me not to be like her.
I never want to hurt my daughter like that if I have one. I will never scar her.
She used to get angry and slap me sometimes. I was not an abused child by any means. It is actually quite normal for parents to have been how she was.
But she denies it.
She denies any bad memory I have of her. I hate this. She tells me I make things up, and that nothing is true. She tells me I only remember the bad things. They do stand out in my mind, but I don’t feel as though I can be blamed for that. I remember being 10 and hitting my own face in front of the mirror in hopes I could get the mark to stay. If it stayed, someone else would know. Someone else would see.
I don’t know how to forget that.
She tells me I made it all up. She tears me apart. I feel like a stupid child and a ridiculous person when she tells me that it never happened. She embarrasses me. I understand that I am making her look bad but there is no need to laugh at me when I mention something that happened. She would much rather have me be an idiot, than her be a bad mother. I wonder how she can teach preschool when she is this way as a mother. She got angry that night at the dinner table and she grabbed my hand so I would sit and pay attention.
Her thumb nail did more talking than her voice did.
When she finished I left the table, and then regretted letting her see I had to leave. I washed the cut and told her I was bleeding. It scarred. Not everyone can see it, but I always can.
I will not forget.
She cannot deny a scar. I don’t tell her about though because then she would try to take that away from me too. I don’t tell her a lot because she takes it away from me. Even when she doesn’t know it, she has a way of poisoning everything.
There is so much to me that she doesn’t know. She will never really know who I am.
I’ve said terrible things. I’ve wished she’d go away and told her to go hell and die. The day she does die, I know I will feel terrible. I will regret everything I have ever said and want to die myself.
But the scar on my wrist will still be there. The scars on my memories, my brain, and my heart will all still be there. I don’t care what mother/daughter relationships are supposed to be like. I don’t care. Mine is one without love, truth, or honesty. Mine is full of lies, hurt, pain, and some love. It doesn’t matter what the world wants you to be. Screw what relationship I should have. I have whatever I have. And honestly … screw what I have.