Self-harm and a mother's love

Do I understand love? Well, yes. I have a brain. I do not utilize it as often as I should, but it works. Most of the time. I'm too much of a selfish person to have a proper brain. It's a daily struggle to not let my inner brat show. Trust me, being a narcissist makes you dumb!

I'm slowly getting better. That is to say, only in front of others. I have gotten better at being kinder towards others. Inside, I'm still a mess. Have been since I was 13 and I'm now 26. That's a long time to be in a state of continuous fuckups. I know that if I don't sort myself out within the next few years, I'll be stuck despairing for the rest of my life.

Which may not be long.

I certainly do not want to kill myself, but the thought has crossed my mind far too often for me to rule it out. The main thing holding me back is picturing my mother's reaction. I've already hurt that woman so much; I refuse to do more. I remember the time when I took to cutting myself as a coping mechanism. My mother would cry and say that she can't even fall asleep anymore. Damn! I still hate myself so much for doing that stupid shit.

I was so wrapped up in my own turmoil, I didn't care to consider the pain I was causing her. That's another flaw within my mind. I don't care enough. I don't even truly care for myself. But she did. She cared for me at a time when I was ruining my self.

My mother loves me so much and I wish it wasn't the case. It would be far easier on her heart and mind if she would just cut her troublesome and callous daughter out of her life. My brother is a far better son then I could ever be as a daughter. As I said before, I'm too selfish. I try to avoid her because I know I will only end up hurting her. And yet, I know my determination to stay away from her hurts her as well. All I do is hurt her.

Still, she comes to my place of work. She says hi. She says she loves me. She brings me homemade food and new clothes. It hurts me so much.

The guilt is burning me to the bone!

Why can't she just hate me? I've done enough for her to hate me. It would be so much easier if she discarded me.

Recently, I've forced myself to spend time with her. I force myself to hug her. It had been so long since our last embrace and yet, it didn't feel so bad. I force myself to listen to her stories. I force myself to smile. It doesn't feel natural, but I must. I have to make amends. This is the woman that took care of me for so long.

And she won't be alive forever. I don't want her to die with her heart aching over me.

I know that only a mother with a heart made of gold could still love a filthy bitch like me.

I remember our arguments. I remember screaming at her. I remember slapping her when she slapped me after I held a knife to my chest. I remember shoving her against a door when I couldn't handle how she tried to discipline me.

And yet, she still loves me. She deserve a metal of valor.

In hindsight, my self-harm didn't help with anything. It was merely a deflection. And now I'm left with ugly scars on my skin. I don't mind them so much. They've faded so well, I barely notice it most of the time.

I just wish the scars in my mind would fade as well as the ones on my skin.