I love my mom from all my heart, I really do.
But sometimes I wish she was more like my friend's moms... She keeps insulting us my siblings and I saying that she will beat us so bad that we won't recognize her and that the cops will arrest her. I don't know how to feel about that. Once, she said to me that she'll throw me out of the balcony (we lived on the 3rd floor), I was like "wth?" But I love her. I can't hate her. I don't know if what she said to us is abuse or not because I always lived like that.. She keeps using insults towards us and our fathers (yes we don't have the same fathers), one day she beat me up so bad that blood was coming out of my nose. Sometimes I want to change my mother. But I can't because she is already in her 40s. I cry when I see people getting along with their moms. I cry when someone tell me that they never received a slap from their parents. That's how she was raised. In violence, screams.. I can't do nothing about it. But I just wish to hear an "I love you" from her yk. When I was little, I used to think that she hated me badd like really bad. At 7, I tried to unalive myself by pointing a knife at my belly. I was ready yk, I had nothing. But I didn't do it idk why. Now I'm 17. Suicide thoughts were in my head till my entry to freshman year. After that, everything was gone. I just wanted to tell you to cherish your parents, say to them that you love them veryyy much. I think that I never said "I love you" to my mom apart when I was in primary school. After primary school, my life became... bad but not really. I don't want to become like her. i don't want to beat up my kids because they did something bad or said something bad. I want to.. cherish my kids, say to them "I love you" everyday, care for them, do their lunch for school. In a way, a normal life. Without screams, without violence... Just love. Not like I lived. With an abusive step-father. With a step-father that cheats every now and then just to get papers. I just want to live a normal life.
But I love my mom, I really do.
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