My mom abused me my whole life. I can remember when she would come and pick me up from school, and start yelling at me the entire walk home. All my friends could see and hear her. She would often hit me and swear at me when my dad was away, knocking me down and calling me all kinds of names. It was painful for me to go to other kids’ houses and see their loving, happy families. I was so young, I couldn’t accept that a mom could do this to her own kid… I started pretending that my teacher was my mom, or my aunt was my true mother. I was in denial. But as I grew older, I accepted her for what she really was. And I grew to hate her.
Then she got cancer. I was supposed to feel sorry for her, but somehow I couldn’t. I imagined her in a hospital, far, far away from me, and I was glad. But instead she turned to alternative medicine and traditional healers, so she stayed with us… and I was very disappointed. Still more so that she was apparently unaffected by the tumor, and stayed healthy. I felt like I had been cheated.
Many years have passed since then, and our relationship has only deteriorated. I have attempted suicide with a knife during one of her raging tirades. And I can’t shake the complete, gripping hatred of my mother that I acquired around ten years old. I feel in my heart that I owe this woman nothing. I fantasize about killing her. Something inside tells me to stop, that I’m becoming a bad person, but… I can’t help it.
I realize that I have trouble feeling empathy for all the people in my family, even the dogs. I have started hitting my own dog to cool some of the rage inside me.
So, basically, my confession is that I hope and pray that my mom’s cancer will flare up again and send her to the hospital, and that I am a sociopath.
