Figuring out

”You’re just saying that to disagree with me.” The mother looked at her daughter as if trying to discipline a child.

Elise is over fifty and has rarely agreed with her mother on anything. The danger of growing up with a mother who tried to dictate her every thought was that she did, in fact not really know why she liked a particular piece of clothing, whether it was because she genuinely like it or whether she just liked it because she knew her mother would hate it. She is, in fact, still figuring out who she is.

For years she had dressed the way her mother would, but everything looked frumpy on her because she was way too young for that kinds of clothes. She was still trying to figure herself out, who she was, what her taste in clothes were, whether she was as prejudiced as her mother or not. At least she knew that she liked green; it had been her favourite colour ever since she was a kid. She had saved her weekly allowance and bought herself a pea-green top, which her mother had hated. But she had loved it and grieved when she outgrew it.

Inspired by The Daily Post: Disagree



The sound of silence

Ah, there is no other such delightful sound as the sound of silence, maybe spiced with the sound of the wind caressing the tree tops and the song of a blackbird singing to the rising sun, for that is the sound of God himself speaking to us. But we are ever too busy to descend to listening. Such is man’s arrogance. It has no limits. Modern man does not even believe in death; he thinks his arrogance will save him from dying. Why else would people drive as they do? I really do not think it is because they are in a hurry to the graveyard, but it is clear that they want to prove a point, which, presumably, then is that they have ever-lasting life. Without listening to God? Not a chance! Maybe, just maybe, if they stopped on a beautiful spot near a lake and sat down for a while, until they could hear the sound of silence. Maybe then. But the thing is, they never do.

Inspired by The Daily Post: Silence


What does your mother know?

”You always have such a radical view of things!” Her mother flung the words at her.

”So what if I do?” Mary never knew if her opinions were really her own, or if she had adopted them just because she knew her mother would hate them. It was the same even when she was buying clothes. She wanted to find a style of her own, but the fact was that she never knew whether se was still being influenced by her mother’s taste, it she really like them herself, or if the loved them because she knew her mother would detest them.

Those were the hazards of growing up with a narcissistic mother. There were more dangers, though, than the mere matter of taste and opinions.

”You’re just saying that because it’s the opposite of what I think.”

Mary was glad her mother had at least some insight, but she really suffered from a severe lack of self-knowledge. She could, for instance, not understand why Mary had developed the habit of opining the exact opposite of what she thought was right. But then of course you had to have grown up with a narcissistic parent to understand.

Inspired by The Daily Post: Radical



The last summer

She shivered. The last of the summer had gone, and there was only darkness ahead. She shivered, not because it was particularly cold yet, but because she was anticipating the endlessly long stretch of cold and darkness that lay ahead of her. And pain. The fact that this happened every year did not make it any easier on her. Her living space had shrunk seriously.

When she was younger she had thought, had hoped, that she would be able to increase her living space as she got older, but this was not the case. She knew most of the whys, but still. She could not accept it. It was not fair; she was not a bad person, and yet it felt as if she were in prison, punished for some crime she did not even know existed. Or was she just being punished for being her? She did not know any longer. It did not really matter.

Inspired by The Daily Post: Shiver