I’m not her

Continuing with emptying out my heart & my mind, this one is really painful & hard to write. I’m having to take a lot of breaks & calm down so that I don’t get worked up into an attack. My apologies if it doesn’t flow well…

I’m not her.

It’s a constant reminder I have to give myself.

She used to scream at me at the top of her lungs, telling me to shut up if I disagreed with her. She used to rag on me about not doing a good job of cleaning the house & to redo it when I did my best. She didn’t want to play with me outside or play a game with me or really do anything to disturb whatever she was doing.

I’m not her.

She had various “ailments” that told me when I was her age I would have them too (even though I’m a different person & her problems weren’t hereditary/genetic) so she knew what was the best treatment. She spent years manipulating me into thinking there was something wrong with me & that I “needed” her. She invaded my privacy every chance she could get & punished me for being a kid or a curious young woman.

I’m not her.

She told me I was too young to be depressed & my life wasn’t “that bad.” She would badmouth me to anyone who would listen even if I was standing right next to her. She was always the victim & I was always the problem child. She told me over & over how I was “difficult” & how I made life “challenging” for her. She would tell me how “I thought I knew everything & that I was so much better than her.” I never once said or thought this but she had others convinced & they, in turn, would treat me like shit.

I’m not her.

When I went to the college I wanted to go to (in-state), she complained all year about how she & Dad had to pay for my tuition & it was a struggle for them. I switched to different colleges (still in-state) to finish out my education & paid for it myself. She still brings it up how they had to cut corners to pay for it that one year. I think it was like $4000 total. Not forty. Four. Then she wanted to claim me as a dependent on her taxes to get a substantial tax break even though she wasn’t paying a dime for anything in my life (by this time, I was already out on my own).

I’m not her.

There’s still a part of me that’s scared I’ll turn out like her. When I lose my temper, or when I can feel myself rolling my eyes, or right before I stop myself from sighing out loud or saying, “I’ll just do it. Forget it.”

But then I remember that I’m not her.

I don’t manipulate others. I praise younger ones who do their best even if it’s not up to my standard as an adult because they’re kids. I force myself to take a step back & do something for someone else that will make their day. I give people the benefit of the doubt & let them make their own decisions. When others struggle, I’m there to hold their hand & to help them get back on their feet. I don’t judge or make disgusting comments about others. I don’t brag about others’ flaws nor do I broadcast my own for sympathy. I don’t deceive others into believing I’m a martyr to get my way.

The only thing we have in common is genetic material. She is my mother & she gave me life, yes. But I’m not her.