I never realized how much my mother hated me. This is so hard for me to write because I don't want it to be real. Here's the story anyway: last week during my vacation I call my mom and talk to her for an hour or so, no big deal. We started talking about how she was such a great cook, and I say something like, wow I really miss your Potato Soup. Not a huge deal, right? She even invites me over for Thanksgiving. Then she tells my uncle later, and I'm not supposed to know this but who cares, that I was "trying to get invited to dinner" and that she'll be damned if I eat in her house. How fucked up is that? I mean I know my mom is an evil bitch, but I always thought she loved me. I guess not.

You know that phrase: A face only a mother can love, well apparently I'm not good enough for my mother's love. God I feel like crying. But I can't do that. Instead, I put on a smile and deal with my sickness, trying desperately to forget that I know that. And clinging desperately onto the secret hope that my uncle might be wrong, or manipulating me. But I know that's not true. If I can trust anybody in life, it's my uncle.

So I close with this question: What did I ever do that my mom stopped loving me? I know I was a bad child, adolescent, and teenager, but I thought mother's love was unconditional.

I guess not.