Rant Post
(Mommy Issues, mentions suicide)
All of my mom's compliments towards me are backhanded. They can easily be turned into an insult in the next conversation.
She thinks I'm intelligent, but she talks constantly about how intelligent people are conceited.
She likes how I'm strong willed, (I got it from her), but when I use the 'gift' she gave me against her it shifts into childishness and me being stubborn.
My older brother is loyal, and my younger brother is lighthearted and funny. You can't turn those traits around on somebody.
I think she does this because she can't see any other reason to love and cherish me other than me being her daughter.
I don't think my mom loves me for who I am, rather "of course I love you, you're my daughter"
"My only daughter"
I was born gifted but I worked towards being forgiving and generous.
Book smarts comes easily to me but patience and acceptance is hard.
I started college when I was 14 but didn't learn grace until I was 17.
I want to be recognized for what I put tears and time into, not equations and essays that come too easily to me.
I want to be known for who I fought desperately to be, not the compliments I was born to receive.
I fought hard to love myself and other people, and I do. I just wish she would see my worth in something I labored for.
I have a soft soul but that doesn't matter because I'm academically inclined.
I can't change my cognition any more than I can change my appearance.
I love you because you're so smart.
Is the same as
I love you because of your green eyes and freckles and dirty blonde hair.
People ask her
"What's your daughter like?"
"She started college four years early, she gets straight As, she skipped a grade, she's at the top of her class, she gets it from her dad."
My dad committed suicide because she was forced to leave him.
My mom gives me a look from across the table as she recalls how condescending my dad was. The previous breath told me I remind her of him.
I don't know what my mom thinks of me, and I don't think she realizes she does this. I know she loves me; and I know it's not artificial.
I just wish she would love me because of who I am, not what I can do.
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I hope no one who supported Israel, I hope no one who said “Israel has the right to defend itself”, I hope no one that stayed silent, I hope no one that stayed neutral, I hope no one who cried “both sides”, I hope no one preaching “nuance”, EVER gets to experience another peaceful day again. I hope every last one of them suffers for the remainder of their lives. I hope the guilt eats at them every single day to the point they can’t take it anymore and they choose to do the world a favour and off themselves. I hope every last one of them pays severely for their crimes and for their support of genocide. I hope their very existence is plagued with nightmares. I hope they experience what it’s like to have never ending bombs rain over their heads.
Whatever happens in Gaza tonight or tomorrow or after, know that we won’t forget and we will never forgive.
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Make your Whumpee tired.
Whumpees that have been deprived of sleep by Whumper, so much so that they don't remember how to walk in a straight line and can't figure out whether the recent appearance of little black bugs in their cell are real or a hallucination.
Whumpees that can't get a full night's rest. They doze off, only to be jolted awake by their own anxiety of not knowing when Whumper would come back. Perhaps they are awakened by phlegm-coated coughs induced by their illness. They are awakened by nightmares, or by Caregiver who is worried they may succumb to hypothermia, or by a thunderstorm, or the rough blanket scratching their open wounds, or so on.
Whumpees who pull all nighters to protect their friends or lovers.
Whumpees whose eyes burn when they finally can close their eyes. Whumpees whose muscles twitch, who can't stop yawning no matter how hard they try to stifle it. Whumpees with dark, glassy eyes. Whumpees who are slow to react or have a hard time keeping up with the conversation. Whumpees with throbbing headaches. Whumpees with brain fog and memory loss.
Whumpees who have been on the run and have over exhausted their bodies. Their muscles and joints continue to scream long after its over. Whumpees with extensive blood loss. Whumpees who are malnourished.
Whumpees whose survivor's guilt keeps them awake, wondering what they might have done differently, whether it was all their fault, or why they were the ones to live.
Whumpees whose bodies are in chronic pain or illness and who have to hide it, causing muscle and mental fatigue. They keep going with a smile until they collapse or pass out.
Whumpees who break down in tears, begging to be left alone so they can rest. Whumpees who sob when they are told that the bed in front of them is theirs to use whenever they want.
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