My own mother despises me, but she can't admit it.

Like have you ever read Ordinary People? It's like that. My dad doesn't despise me, but he won't stand up to her. Every thing she says to me, it's wrapped in hatred, but trying to present itself as love. It's real disturbing. Nothing I do or try to be is good enough to overcome this hatred, but a double standard exists for other siblings (probably because she doesn't hate them...)

Today's first examples: upon opening my eyes, she is standing over me, berating me for being lazy and having no direction in life, implying that I don't have any purpose or am not trying to get anywhere. She says it in a high-pitched voice like it's some joke, but the words are poisonous. She said I was "nothing but an object to collect dust." The funniest part is that recently I've had a big break and a creative work of mine is actually finally getting somewhere and could lead to something exciting! Did she care? No, she refused to even look at it. Yet, for my sister, she was willing to drive to a recent art exhibit and faun over it.

I'm at the point where I don't care anymore, so I'm just shutting out everything she says. For good.

At least once a week, she goes off the handle and implies I'm lazy, crazy, a whore, a failure, or-- fill in the blank.

But I'm not listening anymore. I think I have to choose not to care about her either.