Resentment

Resentment grows and builds upon more resentment. By all accounts last year was horrific and this year has emerged as a renewal; a new beginning. But even in starting over, not everything is wiped cleaned. There are holdovers from one year to the next and, well, a new beginning doesn’t mean they get forgotten or change.

I’ve begun my career over. The clock has rewound almost 10 years. Now if only my expenses would do the same. Ten years ago I had no “real” expenses, keyword real. So making a salary slightly higher than I had 10 years ago, and half of what I was making 2 years ago, but with the same expenses as the last two years, is, simply put, hard.

Making it harder is that no one around me realizes nor comprehends this. I’m covering the house mortgage and all the house bills, and yet my mother complains that I don’t take her shopping anymore. Every time I go to Target, she wants to know what I’m going to buy her. Absolutely nothing. No, you know what I’m buying her? I’m buying her laundry detergent, dryer sheets, dishwashing soap, sponges, bathroom paper, trash bags….you get the point. My once famous trips to Target exist no more. I can’t even remember the last time I bought a DVD.

All my money goes to the house expenses and she gives me shit for not buying her new clothes. When did I last buy clothes for myself? I saw the cutest summer dress at Target, but I forced myself to walk away and igigi.com has the most gorgeous dresses that I can’t buy.

Every time she begins to whine and bitch, I just want to hit her. OK, no, I don’t want to hit her, but I do want to yell at her. She’s killing me. I’m beyond stressed and you know what, I don’t know why I do it.

Why am I putting myself through this for her? She’s my mother and I’m her daughter, so it pretty much comes down to daughterly duty. I just wish she’d actually act like my mother.

Mothers are supposed to love you unconditionally and see the beauty in you…always. They’re supposed to have your back, especially when you’ve spent your entire life trying to be a good daughter.

Every word that comes out of her mouth directed at me is a criticism. Nothing I do is right for her. I’m not right for her. I am not perfect. I am not beautiful, but she’s supposed to see the beauty inside me and tell me there’s a lucky someone out there for me. She’s not supposed to mock me when I run in and beg my sister to tell the guy that I’ve been avoiding and ignoring for months, who’s now at our front door, that I’m not home. She’s supposed to be on my side and know there’s a good reason I don’t want to see him.

This is why I don’t talk to her about my personal life. She laughed at me when I first mentioned Boston boy, back at the beginning when things were good and hopeful. And when P was only sleeping with me, she told me to do and change whatever I needed to in order to lock him down.

I may live at home with my mother, but I have a mortgage and house bills. And one simple truth remains, when I leave this house, there will be no turning back. I will not visit on the weekends and come do my laundry. She will be lucky if she sees me at family parties.