Kapayapaan

Tinamaan talaga ako. Grabe.

Yesterday, we had a Cabochan Motorcade in Caloocan, 2nd District, as a last hurrah for Tito Carling's campaign. He is hoping to become the Congressman.

But that is not the subject of this entry. It's actually the mass that went after it.


But before that...

See, throughout my whole life, I have had an off-again, on-again relationship with my mother. She hates me. Then, sometimes I feel as if she loves me. So I'm one confused little girl. Well, I ain't that--according to her.

I'm the most arrogant, conceited, worthless piece of demonic horse shit that ever existed. (And the thing is...I agree.)

Thanks, mom.

So ironic. Heck, it's even friggin' Mother's Day today.

Perfect, right?

Anyhow, back to our weird relationship. The reason we break up? Simple.

My fault.

Always.

The reason we get back together? I admit it's my fault.

Always.

Or at least she gives this pre-forgiving (but not really) speech to me, wherein she clarifies how everything is my fault and none of it is hers. She has many different versions of it, but all they really come down to is: "I'm right; you're wrong. You'll always be wrong and I will always be right, so there's no use in you explaining your side to me. So shut up and I'll forgive you."

And all that's running through my mind is: "Here we go again. You're right... Yea, right."

Hahahaha... when did I ever turn into this arrogant, worthless piece of slob who disses her own mother? Oh, yeah. Ever since I was born, according to the one and only.

The thing is, whenever we fight, she usually makes me feel like sh--. And the thing is, I have no defense against it...why? Because there's this stupid function deeply embedded in the human genome that compels all human beings to love their parents...no matter how undeserving they may be...and to yearn that love to be given in return.

So I'm helpless against all the daggers she throws at my heart, and all I can do is to act like I'm completely unaffected by all of it.

But she doesn't really realize there's a huge chink in my armor, and even if she does and I tell her, she's gonna be overjoyed about it and I ... I admit it, I just can't really stand the fact that she wins this one...

again.

And I lose. Again.

And I hate myself a little more.



Here ought to lie a divider sine I'll be discussing the next main point.



You see, I've always thought I had a healthy dose of self-esteem.

I'm not anorexic, bulimic, a smoker, an alcoholic, I don't have suicidal thoughts, I don't lash myself. I carry myself with confidence. I'm confident in my beliefs, or at least I know who I am and what I chose to believe in. I'm not lost in this place called life. I know what I want to accomplish. I do have the end in mind. I read self-help books, I read psychological books.

I'm the person who gives the inspiration, not the one who receives it. Of course, at some point, we must receive inspiration, but I already have this huge stock of it (due to a time in my life when I had harbored this deep hatred and disgust for myself and thought of dying just to end it all but then had a huge turnabout)that I keep on adding to with my own realizations/eureka moments/observations. That's why I hate it when people speaking to inspire think the things they're sharing are new and awesome and is supposed to inspire me when I've already heard/known about it before. And that's also why I am awed and highly respect those who give new inspiration to me, enlightening me more, giving me new thoughts and inspiration for new realizations.

But the thing is, I've realized, I do hate myself...or I began to do it AGAIN--even though I thought I was past that and already larger, much larger than myself before that I won't even stoop to that level anymore.

But people would never, ever, ever think--ever even conceive of the enormity of the intense hatred I have for myself.

And I do.

Why?

Because I am selfish and conceited and have no grace, no humility, no repentance... I'm a BEACH.

And...there's no use blaming my mother for it because I must learn to take responsibility for my life...but

she is one large reason I hate myself. Or at least she's the one who made me realize why I should hate myself by displaying them all out right before my face.

She made me realize that no one really needs me. (And here is why I believe people need to feel needed by others.) If I die, my mom has Ileana, the school has about 249 other students in my batch, they could replace me anywhere. My parents don't need me, my family doesn't need me. My sisters have Ileana and my parents. My brothers have their parents. My uncle and aunts have their children, my grandmother has her children...Now this sounds so stupid but it really made sense when I was thinking of it myself in my depressed little brain. POINT IS, IF I DIE, NO ONE WOULD CARE.

But I also thought that I could make myself needed by being the ideal person everyone would need...but isn't that too just another view people have of me that I'm trying to fit myself into? So would that truly work out in the end and make me effective and happy? I don't really know.

Now comes back my existentialist thinking. SEE??

This is why I hate myself. Just when I thought I was more mature and wiser, I return to my old thoughts about my worthlessness and suicide.



I had this dream too.

I was campaigning for a position in the government, but instead of my mother helping, she was leading the campaign against me. She hates me. And that hurt me.

And then somehow, people found out I had this phobia of sharp objects that can draw blood, especially broken glass. Then suddenly, my brother throws this piece of broken glass at me, at my neck, and out pours blood. And that sickened me.

Of course, at this point, I woke up. But not without folding my neck over and keeping a hand over it, still uneasy about both parts of the dream.

But I dunno, maybe this is my brain sending me subliminal messages about how much my mother hates me? Or how much I need her?




I don't know. I'm confused. And alone.


But I know I have God...but I know that I'm not exactly on his good side either. But I know that he has forgiven me and he will continue to do so.






But what what do you do when you yourself are disgusted and hate yourself and think you don't deserve even a quarter portion of forgiveness from those who will be so kind as to willingly forgive you? What if you realize that you believe you don't even deserve their love and forgiveness?

And I don't. I really don't. That's why I hate myself even more.


GAHHHHH.



But then, what was the point of this entry? Kapayapaan. Peace.

When we had the mass, the priest's homily centered on peace. And it was like God meant for that sermon to be utterly for me. I couldn't help crying during the mass.

I hate crying in public.

The priest said that peace is not merely the absence of war (I'd think that of course he was talking about peace in the elections and in our country too...) but it meant peace with ourselves too.

And as you can see, I have this deep inner turmoil within.

Then he said, we must remember that we weren't made out of evil, out of darkness and Satan. We were made by God, from a part of him and are destined to become a part of him.

We are made out of light.

Then he also said that we can't have peace unless we have peace with other people. And you know I have none of that with my mother.

Lastly, as I remembered, he said whenever we give peace to others, it isn't our own peace we're giving. It is the peace of God we're offering to others.


Is this a message from God?


I don't know too.

But I'm hoping it is. and half-hoping it is not because I still can't find it in my heart to forgive and love myself and in turn give forgiveness and love to others.

See, the point is...

I hate me.

I hate myself. But I would give anything to love myself again.