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Not good enough
Not good enough
Photo © Erwin Olaf
It seems this wound will never heal. "I'm not good enough for mom." And everything in this life revolves around this. And whatever I do - it does not pass. Pain is like pain, resilient companion of my life.
Wound that does not heal
Someone leaves her to work and can even prove to his mother with his over-achievements that he is nevertheless better than the boy who, with clear diction and a smile on his face, correctly answered the TV presenter's question and was rewarded with universal acceptance, even my mother.
Happy are those who manage to escape from this pain at work, they can be envied, as well as those who took refuge from it in the self-destruction of narcotic intoxication.
The rest - suffer.
And it seems. this torment itself becomes that connection with my mother in which I see myself. Pain as a way to experience this uniqueness and recognition in yourself. Recognizing my pain, I recognize my right to be good for my mother, I recognize that I am good for myself.
But .... not enough.
Where to find this recognition and warmth is unknown.
She seems to be there, but she is not there. Typical neurotic.
Typical self-esteem mixed with dust behind the cabinet and dirt fields.
This one is so typically sickening to be close to one and feel one's protest and anger at such a bright destruction of oneself.
And nothing can be done. Powerlessness devours nearby standing.
It is so obvious and so painful that it makes no sense.