My Mother: An Excerpt from My Journal

I remember going to a counseling session at my college. They offered 10 free therapy sessions per year to every student. I’m not sure why I went but it wasn’t long after leaving my boyfriend. I don’t remember much what she talked to me about. But I remember her handing me tissue after tissue as I was bawling my eyes out. We talked about moving as a child and my mother. A lot about my mother. How Freudian. I don’t think it’s fair to blame my mother for fucking me up. But it is fair to admit that she is fucked up. Something is wrong with her. And sometimes I feel like something is wrong with me. We all know about stereotypes for girls with daddy issues. So what does it mean to be a girl with mommy issues?
Is she the reason I so often feel the need to take on the role of a caregiver?
Is she the reason I have difficulty with anyone taking care of me? Because it’s such a foreign concept?
Oh and here is a really fucked up question. Do I enjoy being choked in bed because she used to wrap her hands around my throat when I made her mad?
Is she the reason I can’t throw away people who don’t treat me well? The reason I hold on to nothing? The reason I wake up each day with naive new hope, thinking maybe things will be different?

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