Thanks, Mom

"When I was younger, I told my mother, 'One day, I'm gonna make you proud.' Now that I'm older, it's so much harder to say those words out loud."

Why can't you just let me fucking be? I'm satisfied with myself when I don't give in to my gluttonous side. Mental problem? Really? I know what I look like naked. I know that I don't have a "perfect" body. So fuck you. You don't know anything. Nothing at all. It's not a mental problem that I can see that there are problems with my body, that it's gross and too muscular in some places, too skinny in others, and fucking fat in most. I know that my legs are short, my thighs large, my hips too wide, my stomach too soft, my arms too thin, my boobs too small. I know this. So don't tell me I have "a mental problem" and don't see myself correctly. You'll find yourself in the outside of my life. Again. Don't make me push you completely out of my life. I'll do it. Already I'm planning on not speaking to you for a while. At least for the day. It's 9 AM so you successfully ruined my morning without provocation. I walk inside after my calming morning ritual and I'm greeted by you telling me I have a mental problem, peanut butter and jelly is just as horrible for me as everything else, lean cuisine has tons of sodium, and I cost you a fortune. So my "chemically imbalanced" brain only heard a few things from that conversation: you said I have mental issues merely to hurt me, because if you thought it was totally true, you wouldn't say it to my face. Or would you? You would. Despicable. Also I'm stupid for thinking I can try to eat healthy and the one thing I like that is an indulgence calorie-wise (because I know PB&J has a lot of calories), but I thought was healthy, is also not good enough to eat. So you definitely didn't help there. You make me not want to eat anything especially those TWO DOLLAR LEAN CUISINES THAT COST YOU A FUCKING FORTUNE. God fucking damn. Do I ask for anything more than a cereal and low calorie food? No. Do I smoke pot in the bathroom and rely on my little sister to keep a secret? No. I pay for all of my own shit, even the things parents are supposed to provide or at least help out with. Like, oh I dont know, clothes, haircuts, underwear, to name a fucking few. So thanks for the pep talk, mom. You've successfully made me feel like a fat, unstable lump of shit. Thanks! I can always count on you to feel better about myself. Always. From the very beginnings of my youth you've helped to shape me into the insecure, quiet, self-conscious, angry, resentful, self-hating woman I am today. Three cheers for the best mom ever!