My mother doesnāt want me in her house anymore
Parents fuck us in so many ways, we are not even able to recognize them. Letās think about it: when we are born, we are nothing but blank sheets. We are worms, barely capable of moving, we cannot speak, we need help to feed ourselves; we would be dead in a couple of days, where not for someone who has to take care of us. Itās not wrong to say that we are barely human, when we are born. I mean, speaking from a scientific point of view. A human being after all is characterized by the ability of speaking, of thinking, and by free will. Do we have anything like that when we are born and threw in the arms of people that, from that point, have the possibility to do whatever they want with us? I donāt think so.
We are born as victims. We all know it, newborns are fragile, incapable of defending themselves, everything is dangerous for them. And yet, how many of you have actually put your fingers in a socket? And how many of you, on the other hand, have being fucked in their minds by the way their parents have decided to raise them? We were born weak, thatās true, but we are not at the mercy of the world, rather of our parents, who, from that point, are responsible of everything, and can literally do anything they want with us. And I wish this meant abandoning us near dumpsters... I wish it was the greatest damage they could do, leave a child to die in the trash, surrounded by the smell of other as-well-fucked-up peopleās garbage. But they donāt. They keep us. They raise us. They educate us. And what right do they have? What right do other people, who are just as fucked up as we are, have to shape their creationsā minds to make them fucked up as well, in a kind of twisted game who they have won when they can say āAh-ah! See? I suck, but you suck more than me!ā?
We grow up mentally scarred. But why? We all know how much the world sucks, how many terrible things happen, but do we really think that serial killerās parents raise them to be serial killers? Isnāt it more reasonable that they have been raised just like us, sat around a table full of lies, furnished with resentment, and that they have grown to believe that nothing, in this world, could actually be good? For me, it happened so.
A parent is always wrong. A parent is always wrong, but their huge mistakes are not hitting us, or punish us for a low grade. A parent is wrong when he believes he is able to raise you. He isnāt. And the more you grow up, the more you distance yourself from them and from their way of thinking, the more they get angry, because how do you dare to leave the sweet nest that fed and raised you? So you run away, until you fall for it again, and you create your own creature to shape, as a revenge against your parents. āDo you see, mum? Now I have something for myself, something I can destroy, and you canāt touch me anymoreā. Itās a vicious circle.
My mother doesnāt want me in her house anymore. She never did, otherwise, when I was 7, she wouldnāt have screamed like crazy, tossing my toys around my room and breaking them, while I picked them up and threw them away, even if they were my favourite ones. She never did, otherwise she would have defended me when I told her that my cousin had touched me (and he did that and more, but ehi, she didnāt believe me once, why continue?). She never did, otherwise she would have approved at least one of my projects when, as any teenager, I was changing my mind every week on what I wanted to do with my life. She never did, otherwise she would have said so.
This is my story. When I was 19, I went studying in a new city. You cannot imagine the shame when my friends were asking me āWhy did you choose this University?ā and you smile, and donāt know how to answer. You canāt. You canāt tell them that as you were looking for a place to go, in front of you you were seeing nothing but one word: RUN RUN RUN. Run, run away, if you want to live. You canāt stay here if you want to live, it doesnāt matter if the cuts on your wrists have healed. It doesnāt matter if you havenāt seen your cousin in years. It doesnāt matter if your grandmother no longer force you on the scale, pulling your hair and screaming that you are fat and no one loves you. You have to run.
So I did. I lived the best three years of my life during University. I lived, the way I wasnāt allowed to up until then. I found new friends, I drank wine until I passed out, I fucked dozens of guys because I wanted to. And every time a drop of alcool was sliding down my throat, every time a new cock was buried deep inside me, they did so screaming āYou are free! You are free!ā.
But it couldnāt last. University is almost finished, Iām not financially independent and I have to return home. I have to return home even if in my new city I have friends, a boyfriend, so many things to do. And now, I feel like Iām falling in that dark hole again, now when my mother says āI canāt stand the idea of you returning homeā I hear it, loud and clear. And now, the alcool who used to make me happy burns my throat. Fucking is no longer pleasant, I feel raped. My new friends look like closed parenthesis, people my mother wonāt allow me to hang out with.
What can I do? Someone please answer. But please, speak loud, I could be unable to hear you. Ā
