Sometimes I think about calling the cops on my mother, but I realise that it would fuck things up spectacularly, to the point where up and down aren't fixed positions anymore. "Normal" would cease to be an option, and I might as well be jumping from the frying pan straight into the fire. It's something like exchanging one unbearable problem for a lot of slightly less unbearable ones.
Point is, I don't think this unbearable problem is going to become any less unbearable for the foreseeable future. My mother... She's the kind of person who hears criticisms about herself and immediately denies them. Not once would she think about whether or not it's deserved. She doesn't really care about YOUR opinion of her, she has her OWN, and that's enough.
This means that she'll never change because of anyone or anything. This kind of means that the unbearable problem isn't getting any more bearable.
Today my mother had a screaming fit in the car, because my brother and I were fussing about something in the mall. She loves to tell others to die - things along the lines of 'your life is pointless', 'go and die', etc. My brother in the backseat started crying halfway through (she wasn't even screaming at him) and she just continued screaming and spitting into my ear.
Mountains out of molehills?
Well.
A few years back my mother used to be really violent. She'd get angry and hit me with things, and I'd get bruises and stuff. Sometimes her nails broke the skin, etc. We'd have screaming fits at each other, and she'd hit anything she could reach. (That was about the time I started the blog.)
Of course, that passed. Then again, maybe not.
Today I got out of the car during her screaming fit. I couldn't stand it any more - I didn't feel guilty or anything, more of ... hurt and disgusted. Having your mother call you a useless lump who should die isn't a pleasant feeling. Also I was disgusted by how she could completely disregard my crying brother. Anyone who can effortlessly - I do mean effortlessly, it was like she hadn't even noticed him crying - ignore a crying child is... Well, not fit to be a parent.
So I stood out there in the car park. Obviously, my mother wanted to leave, but she couldn't leave me behind (all I had was a phone, also a basic maternal instinct not to dump her kid outside). The pathetic thing was, she couldn't even be bothered to get out of the car herself. She sent my brother to get me back. In fact, my brother ran back and forth like a messenger, all because she's a shitty mother.
In the end, she resorted to screaming at me across the car park. And then manhandling me into the car.
This is what I meant by "maybe not" (refer to previous paragraphs).
I have a bruise on the outside of my left thigh, which makes it hard to sit properly, and several scratches on my right upper arm. Like, she scratched a layer of skin right off. And she's the one who keeps going on about me and my sharp nails. (Then again, she doesn't exactly do any self-examining, or think before she speaks. I, for one, would never threaten someone with things I'd never actually do.)
I don't know what's going on in her head, but I'm sick of her crap. She's an utterly disagreeable woman, and I hate spending any time with her at all. You love your mom? Great. I love mine a whole lot less than you love yours.
I hate contradictory people who don't even know that they're contradictory. In other words, I hate oblivious people who won't accept that they're oblivious, even when spoon-fed evidence of their obliviousness. In other words, my mother makes me so fucking angry I want to smash my head against a sharp metal spike.
That is not exaggeration. I do want to do that sometimes. It doesn't mean that I will do that.
I am so sick of everything. I fucking hate monotony. Also I hate physical inconveniences. Showering with one less patch of skin fucking hurts.
(I debated about attaching pictures of my arm, but decided against it because it's not exactly easy to maneuvre a camera with my left hand. I am completely right-handed.)
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