I wake up in a cold sweat a lot of mornings, usually due to the fact that I insist on falling asleep with my bedroom window open, and this morning was no different. It was still dark when I opened my eyes and this lead me to believe that it was around 1:00 am, 4:00 am at the latest, though when I reached my arm out to stretch the night-time stiffness that had settled into my bones I realized my head was tucked tightly inside my duvet cover. This put an end to my thoughts of waking up early, perhaps before everyone else in my house, and just confirmed that I am no better then my cat who sleeps all of her days away underneath my bedside lamp.
I've been doing some thinking recently and I've realized that I am not a happy person, not totally and truthfully happy anyways. This has nothing to do with the majority of my family, or my friends whom I would give my life for, or even work which annoys me to the point of anger most days. It has to do with my mother. Now I know what you're thinking and I've thought it myself; I shouldn't feel any sort of permanent dislike towards my mother, the woman who gave birth to me and partially raised me. The problem is I do, and it's getting serious. I think it was always inside me somewhere, the resentment and anger. Growing up I always felt myself resenting her for one thing or another. I think it's just starting to get to me now that I constantly have to listen to her tell me about how skinny she is, how great she looks, and how pretty she is. I mean, yes I'll be the first to admit I have gained a few pounds here and there over the years... but that does not make me as hideous as she thinks it does. There are plenty of people who love me for who I am, I guess some part of me just wishes that my own mother could find it within herself to not be constantly disappointed by the person I've become. Is that too much?
I think I've gone a little too into detail... I've relieved my throbbing heart long enough for one night.
xoxo,
Faith
photos by me
