I am tired of the mother. That rotten, stupid cow comes to my house at Easter, Christmas and my birthday. She doesn't stay long, but I don't want her here. I never do and I never have. And I'm tired of being quiet about it. Why should she get to come over here and pretend for a while three times a year when I have to struggle the way I do because of her? This whole business with the mother at my house will come to an end before this coming Christmas. What's very sad and quite telling, is that even the smallest children inside of me are excited about the freedom implied in dumping her ass forever. Though they always longed to be loved, they never felt loved by her nor did they love her. This will still be hard, though, because they will still feel guilt and fear (also quite telling), but I resolve to make this happen. It is justice. They will be left in peace and the woman who refused to love them or believe them will be gone from their home. The woman who always told them that everything is in their imagination and that writing fiction makes them a tool of Satan will be gone from their lives forever. They survived for forty-five years without real support, love or acknowledgement from her, and they will survive the rest of their lives much better for not having her darken their doorstep ever again.

It was around this time last year that I left the old therapist for good. The relationship was not good for me and I finally got the courage to leave (thank you to the formidable and courageous support of the current therapist who understands my pain). It was EXACTLY eleven years ago today that my father died. Though I wish no one to be horribly ill and die an awful death, that was the very beginning of freedom from him even though I didn't know it at the time. That was a bit more complicated because he WAS more forthcoming with love for me (but it was SOOOO tainted and it set me up for a world of hurt). I loved that old man right back, too, even though the whole thing was pretty much twisted.

Anyway, here I am today. Parts of me hope my deceased father has peace in death and they understand how he grew up to be a monster, parts of me weep that he suffered and is gone, and parts of me wish he was still alive and younger so we could challenge him to a fair street fight.

And so here I am. It's a bad time of year. It's getting cold and I have been bothered by old stuff and have had problems sleeping. I can still make menus, budgets and dinners. I can still pay the bills, wash the dishes and pay attention to the kids. I can eat and bathe and all the very basic shit. I have even been able to begin editing my novel that I plan to continue. And yet... I have to struggle SO MUCH for these very basic things. AND I AM ANGRY ABOUT THAT. I am sick of letting that dumb cunt come over here and pretend when I have to live the way that I do. She gets to pretend when I struggle to survive? No more. No fucking more. The party's over and I no longer care what that causes her. I'm in this for ME. It's about goddamn time, too. Let the dumb cow go crying to her church when I ditch her ass so they can declare me possessed by Satan. Again. They can all kiss my ass (and no, I ain't gonna wash it first).

Plus, Halloween will soon be here. There are already lots of decorations in the neighborhood. I don't mind the scary movies on TV - I actually like many of them - but I have a hard time dealing with Halloween stuff in general. Even when it's not Halloween. Like the time a few years ago in the middle of summer when I freaked out in a store when I saw a dark-colored table umbrella at half-mast in a display. At first glance, I thought it was a hooded figure and I lost it right in the store. I won't live this way and let my bitch of a mother pretend. I don't care if she's getting kind of old. Not my problem. Just like me being a kid who needed a mother was not HER problem. Fuck her.