Today while I was starting to work, I opened my drawer and realized that something was wrong. I probably knew that my mother had been messing with my personal belongings behind me again.
This is an issue that I have been bickering with her since I was a teenager in middle school, from that time my mother would see my diary in high school, to the time she tried to look at my bankbook when I was a teenager, so…my bank accounts all went to foreign currency accounts and even Paypal.
Recently she was getting greedy and kept asking me if I had any money. How much I could make doing 3D modeling?
She never cared about what I was interested in, and I had perfunctorily double-majored in design and physics in college – a science institute that she thought boys were supposed to go to.
In the past, I would get outright angry, especially when my personal belongings were rummaged through, and I would get so out of control that my reflexes would explode and destroy things (I admit that I inherited my father’s violent tendencies, but at least I wasn’t violent like my father was).
I just took a deep breath this time, because my second sister and brother-in-law were coming home later. The whole time I was as pleasant as if nothing had happened in the house. I also closed the door after saying that I continued to catch up on cases.
I slept with my mom these days, and even the dog slept in my mom’s room, and my mom went through my room while I was asleep. I felt deeply cheated, and I spent months mending our broken relationship after our earlier big fight, and this time I felt equally heartbroken.
I didn’t think I was being filial either, I just thought that since my parents were both 71 and my grandfather passed away at 76, I chose to stay home so I could take care of them when they needed help. I accompanied my father to the hospital for a week this July for parotid cancer. Although he was a complete and utter jerk in the past, he was always abusing me, causing me to have low self-confidence in my adolescence and being abused, and it wasn’t until my depression broke out in high school at age 16 that he realized he was doing something wrong that he stopped. However, I choose to forgive him.
As for my mother, I chose to be on the same side as my mother when I was young because of his domestic violence, but as I grew up, all I saw was greed and concern for money, not caring about my work, my psychological needs, my need for support, and even after I got depression, I used to organize depression-related books and movies for her, but she didn’t even bother to watch them.
In my eyes, I hated my mother more and more. I took my quilt and pillow back to my room in silence, and from today I don’t plan to go to her room to sleep with her anymore.
Now I’m 31 years old, I grew up clinging to my mother, and now gradually I’m starting to feel that even I joined the church to be baptized to learn to improve my temper, I know life will continue to get better, but this is a very bad feeling, I’m starting to feel that I actually hate my mother.
After all, I know the truth…I am just the son of a mother who had a failed abortion.
