Colder than a February Night

This past week I have gone to new heights of letting my mother know the anger I still carry for her and her decisions in the past. This monkey on my back is about to eat me alive. I want so much to get rid of it but still, I cannot. I am not proud of the way I speak to her, think of her or keep myself from her. After all I am her child, her original true love. Even after I realize all that, I still do not respect her or want to accept her just the way she is. This plagues me. So, I try. Sometimes I try to carry on conversations without thinking of all the anger and all the memories. She is one of the most giving people. She is artsy, bubbly, gentle and loving. She hurts when I hurt. But, when I begin to feel and regurgitate the depth of her actions through time, I feel nauseous and mad. I want to throw things and yell and tell her how she could have been so much different. She does not deal with issues well. Her brain is wired to keep her from being able to process all the damage she may have done.