You don't want beautiful skin?
Mother. If only you knew how your words pierce me. I have no energy, no strength, no time to explain to you what goes through my mind when you say things like that and shove your beliefs in miracle water down my throat. Or rather, I don't give a shit, that's what you expect me to say, right?
I take four pills a day, apply two different ointments, two different moisturisers, and let's just ignore the fact how literally scarring the condition of my face is, and how it affects me mentally, because obviously you do not give a shit about anything other than what you can see. Let's also forget about the vanities like primers and liquid foundations and spring water just so I'd look human when I go out in public. So I have to do eleven things just to cope with the side effects of my face. It doesn't just look bad, the discolouration, the scars, the dryness. It feels bad. It feels painful. It is a constant pain that I've gotten used to. Forgive me, if I don't have the capacity to listen to you talk about water, three different kinds of water, their uses, and what they do for my skin. I have to take so much shit already, prescribed shit, so forgive me, if I have no energy to worry about what kind of water I should drink so my face would clear up. And you say, You don't want beautiful skin? Mother. Every girl wants beautiful skin. No matter how much of a tomboy I am. But this is not a reality for me at this moment. My skin will never be beautiful while I am undergoing fucking chemotherapy. Do you get it? It does not matter how much medicine I take, how many moisturisers I use, how many masks I apply, how many different kinds of water I drink. Beautiful skin, is not a reality for me at this very moment. Do I give a shit? Of course I do, if not I wouldn't go through all the steps every morning, every night, just to cope with it. But I cannot care much for vanity. I care about the pain. The thinness of my skin. The risk of infections that would delay chemotherapy. I care about shit like that. Not whether I look beautiful, and definitely, I don't give a shit if boys find me unattractive. Since that is one of your concerns, your face like that, how to find boyfriend. Mother. Do I want a boy that superficial? No. Do I want to alter my appearance to get a boy? No. Do I give a shit about finding a boyfriend? No. I give a shit about defeating cancer, ok. And no, contrary to what you believe, I do not have control over the condition of my face. It just is. I am sorry I don't look beautiful to you. I am sorry my face is causing you distress. I am sorry you have to look at this shit every day. But fuck that, you don't have to deal with it, I do, so stop making everything about you and your efforts. You only go skin deep and you really don't bother to find out anything else other than what makes my face look good.
You know what else? You know of this one side effect, and you create a big fuss. What about the things you don't see? That is what I think about when you tell me shit like You don't want beautiful skin? No, mother. I want my scalp to stop hurting so much because I can't even sleep properly with my head resting on my pillow. It hurts. No, mother. I want ulcers to stop forming on my tongue, under my tongue, inside my throat, around my inner cheeks, because I want to be able to speak without it hurting, I want to be able to enjoy my food. It hurts. No, mother. I want my nails to stop shifting so I can play the guitar again, so I can play the piano again, so I can function in the day without staring at my nails wondering if they would eventually fall off. It hurts. No, mother. I want my elbows to stop turning brown from dryness, they are brown, bloody fucking brown, and I cannot do anything about it because moisturisers only cope, they do not heal. It hurts. No, mother. I want the rashes on my chest to go away so I can put on a shirt without it hurting and I don't have to worry about friction. It hurts. No, mother. I want my insides to stop feeling like my organs are shredding themselves and throwing me into a flaming pit of pain. It hurts. It hurts when all you can say to me is You don't want beautiful skin? Fuck that. It is not a reality to me. You know what the reality is? Pain. Cancer. Chances of survival. Not how beautiful I look. And when you say shit like that, you trivialise all my other side effects. You treat me like a bimbo. You think I don't care for my body. You think I don't care for myself just because I forget to drink your special water. I have four pills for my face. Two for iron. One for gastric. Three for chemo. Four vitamins. Two washes for ulcers. Two for scalp. Two for nails. Do you think I really have the time to talk to you about what kind of water I drink? I know, it is important. You give it to me, I'll drink it. But when you give me a lecture on how I don't care for myself just because I drink normal water instead of your precious oxygen/alkaline/filtered water, and when you say things to me like You don't want beautiful skin? I really lose my shit. I want to give a shit about the pain on my scalp on my skin on my nails in my mouth in my ears in my nostrils on my feet on my chest in my throat in my heart on my ribs on my limbs. I give a shit about how I can never really sleep well because my insides hurt like a bitch. I don't. Give. A. Shit. About. Beautiful. Skin.
Beautiful skin is not a reality to me at this moment.
So no, mother.
I don't give a shit.
Is that what you want me to say?
Common decency dictates that I should have a disclaimer, that this is one aspect of the dealings with the mothership. That I understand she is having a hard time caring for someone who doesn't need anybody's help. That I understand she loves me and wants the best for me that's why she goes batshit crazy. That I understand she is doing it from the goodness of her heart. But if I can't rant here, I'd really implode. So forgive me for being an ungrateful daughter.