wolfwood1203

In my desperation, I made a mistake. I asked my mother for help. She's… I really don't want to give her credit by saying she's an artist… but she draws as a hobby. She's not great, but she's improved quite a bit over the years. And I need a cover for my novel. I'm not really happy with how it turned out, so I need to see if I can get my hands on some editing software or something to tweak it a bit, maybe turn it into something I'd be okay with as a book cover. If not, I'm back to square one. I liked the initial sketch she came up with, but the actual painting she did isn't the same

But that's not the point here. Unless you're an artist willing to help out a broke indie author in the making.

The point is that I actively avoid the woman, and this forced interaction. Because of my request, it was only right that I told her about the novel, and where it came from.

For those who don't know, the basic story is that while journaling, I began to examine the strong feelings that have shaped my life. One of the most prominent being loneliness and isolation. What better way to convey what I've felt than to set the story up as a lone survivor in a post apocalyptic setting. And the story grew from that. Now, I know how the woman thinks. So I added that I'm well aware that I wasn't completely alone my whole life, that's just how I felt most of the time.

Being the narcissist that she is, she turned that into something about her. ‘How do you think that made me feel having to watch my sweet young baby turn into a bitter man?’ Fucking seriously, bitch? Anyway, I tried to keep the peace by saying it wasn't entirely their fault, and that it was mainly the effect of being an undiagnosed autistic. ‘I don't think you're autistic.’ Again… fucking seriously? I sent her my proof. Assessment after assessment all saying the same thing. Why do people act like I woke up one day and said, ‘You know, being autistic sounds fun, I'm going to do that now.’?

I spent the last couple of days absolutely seething with hate. Until last night when I realized that I didn't need to. I pushed it away, and calmed myself down.

Why do I feel the need to prove anything to her? Why do we strive to get our parents to acknowledge us, in whatever form that takes? And why is it so hard for them to get past the image of us that they have in their minds? My mother still sees me as an angry high school kid. She has no idea what I've been through, or how hard I've worked on my mental health. And she refuses to listen.

By the way, if you're one of the people who reads these rants all the way to the end, I love you.