Mommy Issues - Blog Posts

Mother, the growing pains are unbearable. Give me the past 5 years back. Let me feel the sand on my feet again. Let me crawl into your arms and sink into your skin. When will the sound of my own name be familiar again? When will I be a kid again?

I wish I had a stronger connection with my mother.

She knows nothing about me, and the more I dwell on it, the more I realize I know nothing about her either.

I carry the weight of my parents mistakes.

It’s so heavy, I just want to make you proud.

I want to forgive you mom, for everything you’ve done, and everything you’ve put me through. Neglect, the emotional abuse you’d give me when you did feel emotional. How you’d use me, like I was no more than those girls in school who everybody use for something, because its all I’ve ever known. Love for me is giving all, and receiving is doing what is wanted of me and never expecting anything in return because I know its not coming, unless I find you in a good mood months down the line, to feel okay with asking, which I’ll feel bad about because your life has always been worse than mine, even though everything that’s happened to me has stemmed from you.

I know you were too young to be my mother, but I’m too young to be yours. I’m too young to be as old as I am now. Too experienced with grief and longing for somebody who’s supposed to be able to bounce back, because I’m simply in the prime of my life. Too sad and callous for somebody who people only ever want around because I’m happy to see you, no matter how long its been and how little you’ve always given me. Because I know, you’re thinking of somebody else when you’re with me. Everybody always has, its the way I was bred.

You think of me when I was little, doll like, who was just full of love, who gave up everything to do what you wanted because I just wanted to be around you. You think of me, good ol’ reliable, the one who was always there to keep you company whenever you decided you wanted me, because you had nowhere else to go on a Friday night and surely because I had just reached double digits, I could watch those romcoms with you because I was starting puberty, I was gonna learn about it soon enough. You thought less of me when I became depressed and had a hard time taking care of myself, and how embarrassing I was to you in our small town because I was open about who I was, and when you forced me into your clothes and made me wear makeup my sensitive skin couldn’t handle because I needed to think about your reputation in town because me being myself was embarrassing to you because I didn’t grow out of being a tomboy, even though you were a tomboy, because we both know it wasn’t me being a tomboy. You didn’t think of me at all when I didn’t give into dressing how you wanted and was gaining weight because of my depression, and you gave up because you had a new family growing with the love of your life, and I was just a byproduct to call and do stuff for you that you needed when you did remember I exist. You only remembered me when you had nobody to call, and since I was fat and ugly, you knew I was free to be there for you, because I loved you. You tortured me, for years. I gave you everything. I lost everything that’s ever mattered to me.

You want us to be better now, yet you still only talk about yourself, or call me when you need me or want to use me, because I’m still fat and ugly, and have no idea how to function in the real world, and I’m scared of being used because people always sniff it out in me. I’m scared that because of how little faith I have in people wanting to be around me just to be around me, that I’ll be miserable for the rest of my life, because people are only around me when I don’t set boundaries, I’m so nonchalant and don’t argue because I’m tired of that being my main social interaction, so I’m always down to do whatever because I’m included, even though I never feel like I’m wanted by the time I’m there because I’m falling short of who it is you’re missing.

I’m just a mother. There to help. To love. To give advice and make you feel better. To take care, even though you don’t listen and know better than me. To be there with you because you’re lonely, and not fighting to do whatever I want to because you don’t like it, but doing what you like because you like it. I don’t cry to people with my emotions because it rarely matters, or I don’t want it to matter because when I tried to make my emotions matter, nobody cared. Wanted to brush past it quickly or just ruining the vibes. Oh well. Who better to mother me than myself? Eve didn’t have a mother, neither do I, I guess.

I need opinions on this please

I made this myself and I was wondering if it's cute or not and if I should make it my new background and if it should be lock or home screen?

mothers day will be my downfall

moms gone for the rest of the week !!

I love the older guys and the girls equally :(

Yes, i lovvee when older guys dm me... But when a giirl dms me saying she loves my blog :c The best

who's going to tell my mom that telling me i'm mentally ill but not getting me a diagnosis isn't going to fix me.

i am the way i am because i've always felt more mature than my own mom

Mom walks in: why are you crying?

Me: life's hard

Mom: are you trying to be funny with me? *begins yelling*

Why thank you mother i think im funny as well :p

“we’re born as blank canvases and it’s our parents job to make us beautiful and complete paintings. you have splashed angry, bright red paint over what could have been a beautiful portrait. you didn’t keep your brushstrokes light and colorful, you threw your brushes to the ground and splashed that angry red all over me. try as i might, and i really do try, i’ll never fully be able to cover that red paint. it’ll always be lingering, the undertones to a self portrait. the subtext of an autobiography.”

-from my letter to my mother <3