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I think the world of you, Mum.
Sadly, you only think of me as shit on your shoe.
I'm inconvenient to you, I get why, I make your life a living hell.
Not purposely, but mental health fucks everything up.
I'm your stress, the stress that made you start smoking, the stress that made you quit what you love doing. I feel guilty, it's beyond me how much I wish I could be the best for you. I'm such a disappointment to you, and I'm sorry I'm not the perfect daughter, I'm sorry I don't take responsibility.
I'm sorry I'm not enough.
But mum, I look up to you, I don't know how you've done it, you looked after three kids all alone, and we all have our problems, but you seem to manage.
Maybe if I was more respectful, positive, and just not me, you might grow to be proud of me, or at least enjoy my existence.
You'll be proud one day mum, I promise.