Wherever I go I'm always unhappy and never satisfied. The places, no matter how little their number maybe, always seem to come with these strange imaginary walls that appear to close in on me. And I tell her about it all. About the growing sense of unfamiliarity of this place, the uncertainty that comes with each step that I take as everyday goes by. About the way it all feels so lonely.
I was ready for just about anything, take on whatever challenge, obstacle life threw at me as I went down my road. And this is the road that I'm going on but this wasn't the one I dreamt about. So how am I supposed to go on? To look at the brighter side? I try to tell her all this. Key word, try.
But as always the words in my head get lost on the way out and what I try to say leaves as an unfinished, jumbled, garbled version of my monologue. As I think of it now I guess it's almost impossible to explain it to her, to even form the words that have the potential of blowing a hole in her heart.
After all, how do you tell a mother that you hate the creation she toiled for 9 months and the countless years after? How do you tell a mother that who she gave birth to and what she imagined for her have been nothing but a hopeless dream? How do you tell a mother that it's not the places, the people nor is it the circumstances but her daughter that you hate? Just how tf do you tell your mother that you hate yourself?
You don't.