On second thought, there are a few other thoughts that need to be written today.
Why did it always seem when I was a child that my mom wanted me to be sick or rebellious or perfect, or perhaps all three? It never was about me. Never was. But it did seem like I was being led toward the courses of action that she always decried. For instance, she harped on the evilness of premarital sex from the moment I was born, yet she allowed my boyfriend to come to the beach with us for a week, and stay in the same house.
Not to trash on my mother. I just wonder sometimes.
I was supposed to want to do nothing but preach and read the bible, but i hated it. Yet she was the first one running to the elders to try and get me DF'd. And when I said I didn't want any part of her religion, she tried to push me into being the rebellious, evil, devil-child that the org painted anyone who left them as. That sentence didn't make sense. But I'll let it stand because I am too tired to change it.
And my dad.. I think he was misunderstood. My mother took my every thought as a 12-year-old far too seriously, and my father took nothing I ever said seriously. Very mixed messages for a high-anxiety child.
But that's enough for tonight. For real this time.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment