on my mother

i believe my mother does not know how to exist without me. or my oldest sister, but she has grown distant, and will move away from this house soon. she will save herself and give me hope.

i believe my mother needs to make me feel ashamed of myself. of the things i enjoy, of the core aspects of me, of my physical appearance, of my hobbies, of my studies, of the way i approach my interests. of my tastes. she needs my apology for being myself, even though she's convinced herself it makes her sad.

is it a mother thing to hate one's own child? is a relationship between a daughter and her mother doomed to be filled of shame in every crevice? i am my own mother's punching bag in an awful way, an indirect way, a way in which she thinks she will always be the victim so i can never win and i will always be a villain. and i need approval. i need her. so i miss her, and i come back, and i go back to living in an awful house with awful air and walls i cannot even look at.

i know i cannot save my mother, i know what she has gone through in life is set in stone forever. knowing it makes it feel worse. i know my pain serves no purpose. and i keep searching for it day after day. and i will die ashamed.