Momma Mia

My parents are getting a divorce. Or at least planning on it, though the planning has only gone so far as to determine that they are getting divorced.

I honestly cannot say how I feel. Relieved would be a good word. Happy? Maybe a little bit.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out that my parents don't get along, and that I don't get along with my mother. I actually don't know why it took them so long. They've been fighting forever, and I'm really really tired of it. Especially when I get involved, either voluntarily or involuntarily.

It's probably better this way, except financially. Financially, it's pure suicide.

I'm not going to cry over this. I didn't when I found out, and I'm not going to. Because the truth is, I really hate my mother. I don't think I can even describe her in words. You may be thinking, "Well, hate may be too strong of a word. She is your mother after all." No, not so. In this case, hate is a perfectly good word to use, perhaps not even strong enough. Besides the fact that she gave birth to me, I don't really think it would be appropriate to call her my mother. Mothers are supposed to love their children and support them and encourage them. All my "mother" ever did was control me and everything I ever did or thought about doing.

When I look at her, I feel disgust and loathing. She's a monster.