So I haven't really posted here, but it's about time I start...
I don't care if anyone reads this, I just need to scream, and cry, and let everything inside, out.
I hate my mother, the one that gave birth to a child she never wanted. The woman who brought a scared child into a terrifying world, not once reassuring her, not once trying to teach her the skills she would need to make it in this horrible world. No, she had no way of knowing the child would be a freak, a pierced psycho who would rather hole up in her room, listening to music, than go out with humans who considered themselves friends.
No, she would never have known that the child she gave birth to would suffer from hallucinations, anxiety, and depression. Though her child's condition is brought on by memories; memories of being strangled, hit, slapped, kicked, bit, and yelled at by the one person who was suppose to be there for her... not that the mother ever remembered such occurrences. Whether it was due to a mental condition, or the fact that she simply didn't want to bother with the battered child she never wanted to call her own.
That child grew up, fearing anything, and everything, because that fear had been beaten into her since she could remember; and now that her child is at a fragile stage in life, needing nothing more than reassurance, and to be told that someone believes she can make it, that mother is the first to remind her child that no one ever cared.
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