I'm tired. I'm depressed. I wake up every day searching for a good day. Every day I'm let down. The day gets utterly sucked away, quickly. Every day. Most days I want to curl up and hide. I'm beaten down. I'm losing. The struggle is sucking my every last drop of life.
Gone is everything decent and sweet and innocent and good. There is hate. And screaming. There are girls. And boys. It's all snarling and spitting. And fear. One moment my kid is thirteen. And the next? A creepy monster bitch with hair of fire (because her head exploded).
I prepared myself for this. Since the birth of my daughter 13 years ago I've been prepping myself for for this, this nasty puberty. It feels so free to type the word puberty. I can't say puberty or talk about puberty because I'm not allowed to use the "P" word in front of the 13 year old giiiirrlll. "OMG I'll die if you say that word" - whatever. The hysterics aren't worth it. I can write about it. You should listen.
There is no advice I can give. I cannot tell you what I do not know. I can share a few thoughts and feelings that might help you decide whether or not to buy condoms later tonight.
I feel...hated. It's not so much the "I hate you!" that rolls from her gaping blabber-hole on the daily - it's the look. The "don't even look at me or I will burst into flames" look. It slams the hate home. Straight into my guts.
I have been deserted. My child is no longer trying to crawl her ass back in the womb. I have wished for this day. I knew it would come. I was excited. I thought I was ready. I clearly was not. We are separated. I've been replaced with video games, computers, ipods, phones, and friiiieeeeends. I'm lonely.
There has not been a day, not one single day, that I haven't wanted to give up. My parenting is tested - Every. Single. Day. I am physically tired of arguing over every miniscule detail of every situation. I'm drained. I am turning gray. I am sad.
I am downtrodden. I'm positive I'm a failure as a parent and that I'm raising the next infamous serial killer. In my mind I'm sure that one morning when I ask if she wants eggs she'll reply by swallowing my head. This girl with black eyeliner and an attitude.
I'm completely uncomfortable. It's gross. Boys and giggly girlfriend drama sucked ass when I was a kid. I have zero desire to do this shit again! We average at least 1 awkward conversation per 12 hours. More on the weekends. More on bad days. More during pms. More on days that end with y.
It's terrifying. I'm afraid most days. I'm afraid to say the wrong thing, look the wrong way, or ask the wrong question. I am a complete bitch but this nasty, teeth gnashing witch scares the shit out of me. Horrified that I will have to listen to all that whining. It's scary. I hate it.
I'm way stupid. I mean, that's how I feel. That's how she makes me feel. "Mom, you wouldn't understand" - whatever. I know stuff. I can't help with physics homeowrk but I can make a helluva meatloaf and I can stand on 1 foot for a long time. I'm useful, damnit.
Watching my child's metamorphis from a little kid to to big asshole kid is not a good time. I go into every day with hope. I begin every day with understanding. I also end every day screaming "shut up, I'm done". It's okay. When my day ends like that it means we talked. I have that.