Weak?

So today I was told by my mother that she had to go through worse times than me, had to go without meals, away from family but that she was strong so she didn’t succumb to “things like depression”. She made it sound like a dirty thing. Something anyone would be able to avoid with a little bit of courage/ strength in character. What was implied is that I’m not so. Not strong enough, not steady enough, not willful enough.

If she had only wanted to share with me that she had to go through hard times too, wanted to share that pain of not having enough, then I would’ve wholeheartedly sympathized with her. In fact I did, and I do, even right now. I’m sorry she had to go through all that. I’m sorry she had to know pain however small or great. I have a great desire to save her from anything that breaks her heart. But my desire to save my own self from hurt is slightly greater than that. I’ve given her chances all my life. And every single one of those times she let me down. She didn’t give me enough attention. Enough love. She always insinuated I’m weak or fragile. And treating me as such, she made me and all others feel like if they just tolerate me, give me my way, then they could go on with their lives without my tantrums.

She doesn’t know what’s going on in my head. She doesn’t know how hard it is to think a sane thought with all these emotions swirling in my head at all times. They are like pressures against my skull. Different beats thrumming into my skull every waking minute. Some painful, some just there. And they take up a lot of space. It feels like an uncarved mush of a fruit inside my brain. I can find the smallest of spaces to think a rational thought, if I’m lucky. But on some days I’m not so lucky. It feels like everyday a new layer of emotional mush grows on the inside and my thinking space goes down by that much. All I can do is think repeatedly, “I can’t do this”. I can’t hold on. I’m hoping fervently for some sort of release. I haven’t felt lucky in months.