Gus,
I’m not angry with you, its not you I promise. I’m angry with everything around me. I’m trying my best to be a good mama but it’s not working and I’m sorry. Sometimes I think to myself, I wish I’d never brought you home. I wish someone would come and take you out of my house and give me my perfect dog back, the one who died shortly before you arrived. My anger has nothing to do with you, nothing at all. I promise it’s not you.
Mary Jane,
Your meow is sometimes soft and welcome, other times it infuriates me to the point where I want you to leave. The same hand that fills your bowl and pets your head is the same one that wants to put her hands around your neck and squeeze the life out of you. The same person that willingly cleans your box, brushes your coat and provides a hip for you to sleep on is the same person who sometimes wishes I’d never gotten you. Even while I say this I think of how gentle and agreeable you are. I’ve never seen a cat take a tub bath without trying to claw the washer to death, but you do. You do it quietly then curl up in the towel and let me dry you off. Overall you’re the perfect cat. My anger isn’t your fault, I’m sick and I am so sorry.
Me,
Sometimes I hate you!!! Sometimes I hate you enough to close you off from the rest of the world so they aren’t burdened by your presence. The noise in your head is deafening, the weight on your spine from yesterday’s memories has bent you over like a 90 year old woman. Your feet are heavy, your shoulders heavy, your eyes heavier and I hate you for not being stronger than you are. Sometimes though, when I see you in the mirror I think you might not be that bad but shortly after I remember “what” you are and the ugliness of that brings tears to my eyes. You may not need to be all things to all people but for the love of God can’t you be something to yourself? I don’t understand you, I don’t know if I really want to. If I wasn’t my mother’s problem I wish she’d told me. I wish she’d just once said, its me, not you.
Little Girl Me,
I’m sorry for everything under the sun. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that we made it through all that just to be here. I’m sorry that I blame you for some of the abuse and sorry that the thought of you makes me cringe. Sometimes I wish she’d had the grace to kill us and spare us the burden of survival. I’m really, really sorry.
Therapy was hard today, I’m happy I don’t have it again until next Wednesday. Tonight is my night for mindless TV programs and junk food. I need to get this party started.
I’m out.
Austin
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