Yesterday, I asked my mom if it was okay if I took ballet class over the summer. She flat out refused and told me how stupid ballet class was and how it would be a complete waste of my time. Whether or not it is stupid or a waste of time, that’s for me to judge after I take the class. I went to bed so annoyed last night.
And then today, she comes home saying how disappointed she is that I’ve developed other interests. Then she says that I live the way Buddhist monks live, like horses with blinders on, so I can focus on getting what I want. Is she serious? I’m not living a life a Buddhist monk. The profession that I choose to pursue is tedious and hideously dry as it is and she wants me to focus only on that? I’ll go insane before I can graduate medical school.
She wants me to be a doctor because her father had asked her to become one for him, but she couldn’t fulfill that promise. I see that they make good money, so I say yes. Then I see how biology and I don’t mesh, but I still have to fulfill my promise. So, I take something I like, the study of the human brain, and combine it with something I have to do and decide on majoring in neuroscience to become a neurologist. Sounds good, right? Well, it’s not good enough for her.
She wants me to be an ob-gyn because it is the noblest profession in her opinion. She gets mad when I tell her I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with my hands in other women’s vaginas.
It just feels like she’s molding me in her image. Whatever that I have that is uniquely me is suppress to make place for her stuff. Things I like to do are criticized as being worthless and a waste of time, but whatever she likes has priority simply because she likes it. Everything has to be done her way. She always says she listens to what her children have to say before deciding on things, but that is such a lie it makes Bill Clinton look innocent. She doesn’t listen; she just waits until we are done talking to tell us her already-decided-on decision.
I’m not a little doll. I’m a human being with my own interests and personality. I have my own views on things and it may or may not be the same at hers, and I deserve to voice my opinion and pursue what I want to pursue and be in control of my life. I want to tell her all of this but I just can’t. Once she suspects that my views aren’t the same as hers and that I will do what I want to do when I’m away from her, she won’t let me go. I’ve been keeping my mouth shut for a year now, and I’m not going to ruin my chance of getting away from here by losing my temper. Whatever I’m mad about, it is only temporary and definitely can’t beat the regret and anguish of living here for the rest of my life.
My mother seems revolutionary compared to Mlle. Smith’s mother. My God, I’m so thankful that my mother is not Mlle. Smith’s mother. That woman is so bizarre. She thinks Mlle. Smith—who has been 18 for a while now—is still, I don’t know, three. I can’t imagine having to suffocate for two more years.
And then today, she comes home saying how disappointed she is that I’ve developed other interests. Then she says that I live the way Buddhist monks live, like horses with blinders on, so I can focus on getting what I want. Is she serious? I’m not living a life a Buddhist monk. The profession that I choose to pursue is tedious and hideously dry as it is and she wants me to focus only on that? I’ll go insane before I can graduate medical school.
She wants me to be a doctor because her father had asked her to become one for him, but she couldn’t fulfill that promise. I see that they make good money, so I say yes. Then I see how biology and I don’t mesh, but I still have to fulfill my promise. So, I take something I like, the study of the human brain, and combine it with something I have to do and decide on majoring in neuroscience to become a neurologist. Sounds good, right? Well, it’s not good enough for her.
She wants me to be an ob-gyn because it is the noblest profession in her opinion. She gets mad when I tell her I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with my hands in other women’s vaginas.
It just feels like she’s molding me in her image. Whatever that I have that is uniquely me is suppress to make place for her stuff. Things I like to do are criticized as being worthless and a waste of time, but whatever she likes has priority simply because she likes it. Everything has to be done her way. She always says she listens to what her children have to say before deciding on things, but that is such a lie it makes Bill Clinton look innocent. She doesn’t listen; she just waits until we are done talking to tell us her already-decided-on decision.
I’m not a little doll. I’m a human being with my own interests and personality. I have my own views on things and it may or may not be the same at hers, and I deserve to voice my opinion and pursue what I want to pursue and be in control of my life. I want to tell her all of this but I just can’t. Once she suspects that my views aren’t the same as hers and that I will do what I want to do when I’m away from her, she won’t let me go. I’ve been keeping my mouth shut for a year now, and I’m not going to ruin my chance of getting away from here by losing my temper. Whatever I’m mad about, it is only temporary and definitely can’t beat the regret and anguish of living here for the rest of my life.
My mother seems revolutionary compared to Mlle. Smith’s mother. My God, I’m so thankful that my mother is not Mlle. Smith’s mother. That woman is so bizarre. She thinks Mlle. Smith—who has been 18 for a while now—is still, I don’t know, three. I can’t imagine having to suffocate for two more years.
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