“God, I’m Scared of You Now!”

6 words.

6 words that are cycling through my head – which I heard, 3 minutes before I started writing, from my mother as she walked out of my room and closed the door, saying “What the fuck?” as she did so.

1 minute later, I put my hands around my throat and squeezed until I felt sick, then got that awful hollow feeling where my world flips upside down.

Scared of me.

She was plaiting my hair, because she likes to do that – it’s one of the things I let her do without turning all psycho violent on her because I’m a stupid fuck. Afterwards she said something like, “Should we put something on your face?” whilst she looked at it. By that I mean, put some cream on to clean my skin up.

And I said, in this horrible, dismissive voice, “Oh, I’ll do it later,” whilst my body stiffened and I acted so hostile that now, I want to burn something. I got defensive, angry, snapped at her because I hate my face on occasion anyway.

There’s no excuse. Whilst I’m sitting here, I’m shaking, with what feels like disgust and IS disgust crawling through my veins. I’ve never looked at it, but really, I treat her like shit.

And why?

Simple: or, well, not. I hate actually admitting that I’m a terrible person, or that I treat people unfairly and horribly, because I try to act nice. Not the aggressor, or the terrifying unhinged daughter who scares her mother.

Scared of me.

Oh, fuck. Who am I? Who am I that I’d treat my own mother like that, regardless of her personality? NO ONE deserves to be snapped at all the time, treated one day with happiness and the next with anger and sudden changes of mood. Obviously, I’m not the person I thought I was, because I do all of these things and it’s not fair on her. There’s no reason why I act like this; it’s just me, me thinking I have the FUCKING RIGHT to get angry when she wants to just clear up my skin which would make me happier, anyway.

I don’t know why. I feel sick with myself, REALLY sick, because on all the other occasions where I’ve felt this self-hatred, my mother said something slightly nasty to me – she might not have meant it, but that’s not the point. This time, it’s me. It’s my fault, and it can’t just be fixed by ignoring it.

Shitting hell I hate myself. I hate myself, I hate myself, hate hate hate and I’m becoming incoherent. Okay. Get a fucking grip.

My sister, mum and I are going out for dinner in about half an hour. I’ll have to apologise – HAVE to? No. I NEED to apologise. In every single argument we have, I always say sorry, even when it’s not my fault. Pity it is this time now, though, because I can’t hide under a rock and whinge that it isn’t REALLY me to blame, because it is.

I never thought I was capable of being so… Horrible. Mindlessly horrible, thoughtless, and prone to such anger. It’s upsetting me, and making me want to rip into my skin. I won’t, because it’s not worth it.

It’s strange – the level at which I’m overthinking, hating myself and then that I’m posting this. I’m scared. I’m scared of myself, like she’s scared of me. How can I pretend to be a good person when all I do is shout at my mother and act so viciously? It’s not what I’d want in myself and I make myself feel sick.

I’m really sorry. My sister wouldn’t understand, neither would my dad; I’m trying to actually DO something rather than wallow in hatred and let this carry on. Times are moving on, and I’m going to be left in the dust because I’m a girl who treats her relatives like utter crap, so I need to be better. I’ll try to hold onto the fact that people admire me, respect me and understand me. I need to be nicer and not be such a horrible, terrifying, worthless bitch.

But I’m scared. I’m so, so scared.

From Elm 🙂

UPDATE: I just apologised to her, and she said it was fine – her exact words were “Don’t worry, it’s fine; you snap at me all the time anyway so I should be used to it!” I feel a little better, but not much honestly.