Between Feelings and Questions

Who is my mother? And what has she become? Sometimes it feels like a completely different person stands before me—heartless, distant, cruel. What turned her into this? Money? Time? Boredom? Or something much deeper that I’ll never understand?

The more I try to figure out where things went wrong, the less I seem to understand. Not just the idea of family, but even the very concept of love is starting to slip away from me. It feels like I don’t even know what it means anymore.

I have a younger sister. She’s clearly my mother’s favorite—actually, at times it feels like she’s not just the favorite, but the only child that matters to her.
It’s unfair. Painfully unfair. And the worst part is, there’s nothing I can do about it. I know things aren’t right, but I can’t fix them. I don’t have that kind of power. Not alone.

My sister is the exception. In my mother’s eyes, she’s untouchable. It’s impossible not to notice. She gets away with everything—things I wouldn’t have even dreamed of at her age.

A phone, bright nail polish, constant snacking, brand-new designer clothes, fake nails, lip gloss… All the things I was flat-out denied five years ago. And if I dared to beg or throw a tantrum, I got punished for it. Not that I really threw tantrums—especially not over things like that.

Looking back, I’m honestly grateful. At least I had a childhood. Seeing my younger brother and sister glued to their screens for ten-plus hours a day… I’m glad I wasn’t born even a year later.

My mother is losing it. Many say she needs help. The kind of help we can no longer give her. And with every hour, every day, it only gets worse. Her state, our situation, and with it, our whole lives.

I’ve almost stopped feeling anything toward her. She doesn’t act like I’m her child anymore. She hurts me—whenever she can. Physically, it used to be. Now, it's just words. But those words cut deep.
Sometimes I cry—when I can’t take it anymore. But most of the time, I just hold it in. If I have the strength, I stay quiet. If I’m too tired, it slips out whether I want it to or not.

Lately, I’ve been crying less. I think I’m starting to accept things. I’ve accepted that my mother doesn’t love me. I’ve accepted that she wants to see me fail. She undermines me, sabotages me every single day—on purpose.

She would begrudge me every penny, even the ones that aren’t hers. And I say this with a clear conscience: I was never a bad kid. Never wasted money, never smoked or drank like so many teenagers I know.
I’ve worked full-time since finishing school. I work out, eat healthy. I know it’s not a cheap lifestyle, but it’s not meaningless either. Not as useless as my mother tries to make it seem.

To treat someone constantly with such negativity—especially when all they want is to better themselves—that, to me, is just cruelty.
If it came from anyone else, I’d probably brush it off. I wouldn’t even care much. But from my own mother—the one person who’s supposed to be my biggest support—it cuts the deepest

There’s no hope for change. The situation just keeps getting worse. The pain keeps building, getting heavier. Day by day. Week by week. Year after year.

And the reason behind all of this?

I have no idea.

Maybe that’s the hardest part of all—trying to fix something when you don’t even know what’s broken.

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Thank you for reading! If you're dealing with a similar situation or if you just have something on your mind, feel free to share it in the comments! If you liked this little journal of mine let me know by leaving a like or a tip or two. I appreciate your support!❤️