am I sick from anxiety or am I actually physically ill? a memoir by me
am i lazy or horribly depressed: the sequel
does everyone hate me or am I just very insecure: the completion of the trilogy
Is it all my fault or am I self deprecating: the prequel
She sent me a summons to come downstairs; I wrote back that I was tutoring Maryam so I couldn’t. Then Maryam had to go so I went down.
She just wanted to ‘talk.’ Because she talks to everyone else (read; everyone else she’s ever met in her life) daily, and I ‘walk through without saying a word’ — which, I might add, is patently false.
1. I’m not exactly what you would call a ‘talker.’ 2. My mother is not exactly what you would call a ‘listener’ - which is probably why I’m not a talker. 3. There’s not a whole lot going on in my life right now for me to talk about, and the things I do have going on and/or are interested (tutoring, Maryam, Afghanistan, etc.) she is constantly dismissive of and berates me for wasting my time on.
Also, anyone who knows me can tell you that you can’t make me do anything I don’t want to. You can talk me into stuff, but you can’t force me into it. So pushing me to do something is only gonna guarantee I dig my heels in more. Which of course my parents are apparently completely unaware of.
Unless, of course, they just don’t care. I’m not really sure which is worse.
Also, I wage a daily battle for my self-esteem. It’s pretty much rock-bottom and doesn’t take much to completely wipe out. That and my anxiety are so bad that pretty much getting out of bed is a significant accomplishment for me.
But my mother constantly rags on me in big and small ways. She always sends small digs, like this email:
U can’t do her work for her. Tutor lessons are an hour. I will tutor u in cleaning & cooking-u might as well get something out of this year
Because obviously I’m such an idiot that 1. instead of teaching Maryam I’m clearly just doing her homework for her. 2. Tutoring lessons only last an hour, every time and for every person and occasion, obvies. 3. I’m such a complete waste of space that I don’t even know how to cook or clean, despite having lived on my own for years. 4. My life is such a complete waste and I’m doing absolutely nothing worthwhile so I need to learn something so stupidly basic to keep this year from being a complete and utter failure.
I have got to get out of here. Kabul would be heaven, but the more dangerous location the better, because living in a war zone is nothing compared to what my parents do me. It only gets better from here.
This too shall pass.
What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.
Maybe if I keep repeating these to myself enough, I’ll be able to get through this year without killing myself.
Despite my mother’s best efforts.
It’s ironic, really: I’d never seriously contemplated suicide until I was forced to move in with the people who are supposed to care more about me than anyone else in the world.
But it’s pretty damn obvious that they really don’t, so I guess that explains a lot.
Damn it, I should have realized when I woke up that the house was too quiet and peaceful for anyone else to be there. Now the bitch is back and I’m trapped.
Oh the joys of emotional blackmail. Or just regular blackmail…
Seriously, I’d take the Taliban over my mother any day. They’re easier to deal with and a lot less crazy.