Just lend me a soapbox already. >.>

I'm listening to: Yellowcard- Only One

Fuck. You know I don't care what I do nothing is ever good enough for my mother. I can't wear the right clothes, I'm not skinny enough, I'm not motivated enough, I don't date the right people, my friends aren't perfect, and I'm imature.

I'm just starting to get tired of her telling me how wrong I am. It's stressfull enough for me right now without her getting on to me about everything that makes me who I am. I just want to be able to be myself and not worry about her condeming it unjustly and with as much ignorance as she does.

I know I'm not perfect. My thighs are too big, I don't study hard enough in school and I'm into a few odd things. But I like it, that's what makes me who I am and I'm glad that at the heart of it all I have more moral fiber than the tan, straight haired, bleach blondes that my mom hopes for me to be. It just irks me that my own mom can't see past the surface of things to what I'm really like. But even then she's probably find even more wrong with my thoughts.

One day a few summers ago I was sitting in the kitchen with my aunt and grandma and mom as I sat reading the paper I commented on what BS all the talk of banning gay marriage was. This launched a campaign of bashing because if I support two consenting adults right to be together it must mean I'm a bad Christian. Which I'm not. I'm not afraid to be myself. I just feel stiffled every time I am. That's probably why I'm so quiet about my opinions now and days, unless I'm comfortable with someone I usually just keep it to myself.

Anyway that's enough of my introspective ranting for today. I'm sure that some of you can find enough psychological fodder in there for a whole paper on todays mother-daughter relationships and its effect on the psyche.

Flew over your coo-coo's nest.

Ashley