Not one to be filled with bitter resentment, but I am finding it harder and harder to be kind to a certain family member. I express my frustrations of the day to my boyfriend, who I adore greatly. He listens and never judges me.

Sometimes, I am triggered. To believe that ascension fixes your problems is very naive. I have Schizotypal disorder that enjoys wrecking havoc on my thought process.

Except, I am one hundred percent certain this isn’t me imagining the world hates me…and I it.

When I first published in 2012, my mother gave me a lot of false promises, then wielded her hurtful tongue towards me. The ever, “you’re a dark woman, you won’t make a difference, I never did,” tirade essentially pissed me off. I wondered how could someone put so much effort into being hurtful.

For years, I kept trying to prove her wrong, and I most certainly did. But it wasn’t until I took a step back, that I realized I was proving my efforts to the wrong person, entirely.

What would have occurred if I succumbed to the madness that she revels in? That was in my twenties. Those years are for darkness and growth. When I managed to bloom, I realized that she is a bitter, shriveled up, distasteful prune…and I have just begun.

Imagine, having spent nearly two decades ripping into your own offspring, to be old and unchanging in your ways…that your mind and spirit are ash that is to be discarded, eventually.

To be cruel, and insidious towards the goal of making your daughter just like you, and having it not work.

I had so many people aiding me, offering advice…letting me cry. I finally realized how much I wasn’t like my mother at all.

So now, with my new project…she again offers her false graces. On a manipulative stance, argues a party for the release would be perfect.

I want a quiet dinner with the love of my life, as he is more involved in my work than anyone has ever been. Simply because he loves me and everything I do. Would I discard the peace and serenity I have found for a lump of coal that I know…if I touch it, stains my fingers. And when I burn it, kills my lungs?

Haven’t I suffered enough?

Yes. And so I stood away from her, her useless remains, her festering hatred. I do not become what tried to mold me…nor do I pretend that it doesn’t exist.

I leave it where it lies. It likes it there.