Ask Me About My Inferiority Complex

I had my parent teacher conference yesterday. Bex went with. It was the fucking Twilight Zone. Spook sat there, calm and polite, quiet, not interrupting every five seconds. No fits. Totally different kid. And her teachers attest to as much, unable to believe she has punched me and hurt the cats. Which is proof she only acts out for me. The teacher says she may feel she is not getting enough attention from me and I need to rectify that. I am with her every hour of every day. I try to interact with her. Maybe my anxiety and impatience prevent me from being super mom who sacrifices her sanity to entertain her kid 24-7. I am sorry for that but it is what it is. I TRY. I guess I am failing. There is nothing like other people to make you feel like an utter waste of space who can’t do anything right.

Yeah, it’s my inferiority complex but oddly, it is only fed by others. On my own, I am fine with who I am. When others point out all my shortcomings, and I know how hard I am trying only to fail, it metastasizes into this all encompassing “why the fuck bother” mentality. It even leads to “maybe she’d be better off with someone else raising her, someone without mental issues to hinder them from being an entertainment director who worships at her feet. Because that’s kind of how it feels, like I am supposed to change who I am, including cure my own mental illness, to be what she needs me to be. Maybe I am just a victim of my own upbringing. My parents didn’t lavish me with attention or activities or even praise. (Which I do try to praise her often because I know what it;s like to never hear about anything but what you do wrong.) I spend more time with my kid than they did with me, one on one. I TRY. Which is why I get so bent. It’s not easy juggling mental illness and single parenthood and I may not be special because others do it every day but damn. A little slack would be nice.

I often think I’d get more credit if I ran a fucking meth lab and let her roam the neighborhood at all hours with a chainsaw to play with.

Wasn’t it Eleanor Roosevelt who said, “No one can make you feel inferior without your permission?” She was full of shit. None of us start out insecure. Life gives us reasons to be insecure. Judgements. Criticisms. Highlighting your flaws while ignoring your good qualities. Over years and years, it takes a toll. Not once did I ever say, “Oh, cool, all these idiots are right, I totally give them permission to make me feel shitty about myself.” Passive brainwashing is what it is. Plus a mother who tells you self confidence is the same as conceit doesn’t fuckin’ help.

Yesterday, aside from my inferiority complex rearing its ugly head, was a good day. BEx and I just hung out at home. She cooked. (Yummy pork chops.) I wrote. A lot. I am learning to adapt to writing in spurts where I can steal a moment for a paragraph here and there. It’s not optimal but it’s what I have to work with and I am clinging to it for dear life.

Today…I am low. Not like abysmal, but my kid threw a chair at the patio table when I told her no, I would not buy her a toy at the store. I don’t know why she acts that way for me. I guess I am too grouchy. I wouldn’t be if she were like every other kid I ever dealt with. There’s rebellion and defiance but enough groundings and swats on the butt and losing favorite things…It sinks in. Not with Spook. She’s not pushing boundaries. She’s trying to break me. Some days, it seems like she will succeed before my own fucked up brain finds a way to do me in.

Other days (usually when manic or in a good, strong mood) I will think, you have got a battle on your hands, little girl, because that stubborn streak of yours comes from me and I have had years and years to perfect it…Delusions of grandeur, no doubt.

I keep being told she is a normal kid. Yet no one wants to say I am a normal parent, putting forth effort even in the face of abject failure. I stick around (when her other parent bailed) and I try and I try…But so much defiance wears me down. The teacher says she talks about me constantly, draws pictures of me and her (and apparently if the picture shows us smiling then the kid loves the parent) and yet…I feel like she hates me to the point of wanting me dead. Maybe my own neuroses but…To try so hard and get this treatment in return is a soul sucking drain on limited resources.

Still, I try. Because I love her with everything I am, even  with my stupid fucked up bipolar brain that never behaves for me either. I need a vacation.

Unfortunately, you can’t pop your skull open and take a break from your own mind.

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