Loopy, Lonely and Lost

Being a terrible person (again)

Posted on: October 23, 2011

I’m okay. My mood is slightly volatile, but manageable. I’m at that stage where I’m cold and unsympathetic, impatient and abruptly honest, suffering no fools and laughing, constantly, at pretty much everything (everyone at work says they love my laugh, they always hear it from half way across a room and it makes them smile).

My mum’s in a lot of pain. I know I should feel sorry for her. I don’t know if it’s my mood or just a lifetime of being around her (it’s probably a mixture of both), but I’m struggling to find compassion.

She’s been saying some really hurtful things, to all of us. Saying mean, spiteful, malicious things, and on top of it all, accusing us of being mean, spiteful and malicious. I think it’s the hypocrisy that angers me most.

I feel like she’s poison. I feel like she’s everything I don’t want to be. I want to stand in front of her and list her short-comings. I want to scream “NO, YOU’RE WRONG” at every insult and accusation. I want to tell her that her pain is no excuse for hurting others. I want to run away from her – but I know it’s too late. I could be on the other side of the world and it’d still be her voice I hear in my head, telling me what an awful person I am.

She thinks her illness makes her untouchable. She’s wrong, she’s wrong, she’s wrong. However much you hurt, you’re still responsible for your actions. Pain is no excuse for cruelty. She hides behind it, like it makes everything okay, but it doesn’t.¬†Nothing is okay when she’s like this – and she’s like this so much.

I want to be a good person. I want to be kind. But I don’t even have any sympathy for my own mother.


1 Response to "Being a terrible person (again)"

You’re not a bad person, given her behaviour you can’t be blamed for not finding sympathy for her. Illness is not an excuse.

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My name is Laura. I was once told that I have cyclothymia. This blog is mostly where I write about living as a person with extremes and instability of mood, and the history of a life that led to the development of those symptoms.

I complain a lot, I'm very repetitive, unreliable, and I tend to contradict myself.

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