Well, I went to therapy. It was balls. I mean it’s properly serious this time. The things I can disclose to friends jokingly like when my mum gave me her hand me down vibrator “because I bought myself a new one” when I was about 13 or so.... they’re actually really damaging. And making jokes… doesn’t actually help.
He asked if I remember my mother doing typical motherly things… and I can’t recall affection must past toddler years when I was basically carried everywhere. Once my personality started to really develop around 3 or 4 I became the bad child, and affection only came from.. I don’t remember who. That’s probably why I was so fucking annoying and obnoxious.
It’s the first time I’d wished my Nan were still alive so I could ask her, about my mother.
I’m continually wondering what it is that I did specifically, to be bad? I know it’s not really, and that I really haven’t done anything. But I still want to hear what it is they believe.. I guess so I can properly justify it to myself, that it’s not true.
Both kids are home today poorly, and I am trying to do an essay that was due on Friday. Sigh. It’s not working. They’re noisy and their tv shows are distracting, and I’m tired of listening to them complain and ask for juice re-fills. Storey is a proper shit when the panadol wears off.
SP
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