Frustration, as
might have become evident throughout these ramblings, is a feeling
all too familiar to me. And my mother is very often the cause of it.
She repeats herself like a radio station’s playlist, especially
in regards to her concerns about my well-being.
In all fairness, I understand where she’s coming from with those concerns. But what frustrates me about it is the fact that she has next to nothing else to say to me anymore. That’s not even an exaggeration.
Sometimes - as shocking as I know this sounds - I feel like punching her. That, at the very least, might teach her to keep her mouth shut. Or it might not. Either way, taking my frustration out on something would work wonders for my well-being, even if that something were a close family member’s face.
The only reason I don’t is because I want to avoid such an extreme breaking of character as best I can. I want to keep a positive image about myself. I want to think - and I want others to think - that I only resort to violence as a means of defense and when absolutely required by the situation at hand.
I don’t take enjoyment in violence. I only ever use it as a last resort when I’ve run out of options. Not that there have been situations in my life where I’ve had to use violence, but I like to think that way.
All considered, I wouldn’t want to commit an act of violence, least of all towards my own mother. As much as she frustrates me, taking it out directly on her would be simply wrong.