by an Anonymous Mom
I don’t know who I am.
I’ve never been defined by a job/career, a last name (Like Rockefeller), or being famous in any way.
I can’t sing well enough to do anything with. My dance lessons went by the wayside as did my other extracurricular activities. I’m not athletic, interestingly intelligent or interesting much at all.
I was sexually abused by a few trusted people in my life, none of which knew about the others. I got over it, didn’t want to let that be what defined me. I was also emotionally and mentally abused quite a bit over the years, again… that’s not who I am.
I have many hobbies, none of which I excel or even got above “Intermediate” at.
I’m not much of a protester, although I have and probably will again, but not in the sense that that’s who or what I could become, someone who is very passionate about a cause.
I’m nothing except existing.
Except, I’m a really good mother and wife. I make my husband very, very happy and he is my best friend. It’s really true love, and we work at it to keep it that way.
Some people say I’m an amazing mother, but as far as I’m concerned that still remains to be seen. I won’t pass judgment on that part of my life until the child is at least 30, then we’ll know for sure.
I am so angry, all of the time. I’m angry at humanity for destroying our only home. I’m angry at my husband for not knowing where all the dishes go. I’m angry at my child for being a child. I’m angry at my best friend for being a bitch and not realizing.
I’m angry at society for making certain things ok. I’m angry at the law for protecting bad people and punishing good ones based on technicalities, or stupidity. I’m angry at technology for being so awesome when all I want to do is live a simple life, technology free. I’m angry at money for making humanity self-destructive.
I’m angry at my parents for never making me finish anything, ever. I’m angry at myself for letting some of these things, and more, stop me from being who I want to be by allowing my apathetic self to use these as excuses for being nothing and no one.
I am angry that this is not depression speaking, but my real, true self.