A Summary On ' Perfect Little Punching Bag '

In the fall of 2012, my mother almost succumbed to her illness. I had just begun my freshman year of high school midst angry conversations between my parents and the threat of separation. It would seem as if they bickered about the most irrelevant things, almost as if they had no other reason to fight other than the fight itself. Those moments were excruciatingly lonely, my father worked until the dead of night and my mother would come home exhausted from treatment. I now know that there was no one who felt more unvalued than my mother. I wish I had the ability to iron away this blunder that destiny had fabricated, however foolish this desire is.

The reason I am who I am today is because of my unsupportive mother. My life has always been filled with hardship that just sent my life on an uncontrollable roller coaster. My mother said, “I never wanted you, you were not even supposed to be here.”

I despised what she said when I left. I was engulfed in anger by not being the favorite. I was rebellious because I was different, but I always found my way to get what I wanted. Mother always fought with me though I didn 't know the reasons of her anger. My siblings teased me for being a carbon copy of my father and becomes the talk of the town. For whatever reason she had, it built grudges within my existence. I always asked why she hated me when I was the only one by her side.

I was consumed by my own anger: the fear of being all alone, that I wasn’t able to control the beast in me. Because of this, I had missed the last words my mother said, her last days and her last smile. I was selfish, and as much as it pains me to admit, my ego was greater than anything that was happening in the house.

As I got older things got better, my mom got help for her drug problem and I got healthier with the help of my dad and step mother. While living with my father my mom was supposed to come every other weekend to visit me, and many of the times she was scheduled she did not come because she could not afford the gas. This made me upset sometimes because I thought she didn’t want me or she was doing more important things. After being disappointed so many times it made me stronger because I learned not to let other people control my

My mother has taught me to be courageous and always stand up for what I believe in. Every day, when I think about all that she went through while raising us, I really am astonished. She has basically given up her life for us making sure that we be successful in everyway. I can remember her letting me try out for club basketball when I was in sixth grade, the money didn’t even daunt her she always found away. However, when someone hurts anyone of us she has no problem standing up for us. I can

The only child of an abusive, alcoholic father and a totally self-absorbed mother who never taught her any of the basics of being a strong, independent woman. My mother never finished

I sat on my bed with my arms wrapped tightly around my pillow swaying back and forth. My mom lightly knocked on my door and asked if she could come in. I tried to wipe away the stains left by my long stream of tears, but I felt my skin sting and eyes swell instead. She asked if I wanted to talk about it, but my response got stuck in my throat, so all I could do was shake my head and shove my head deep inside my pillow. Her bare feet smacked on the concrete as she made her way over to my bed. Her weight made an indent in the corner of my mattress as she sat down and laid a hand on my back.

When I was living with my mom, things were really hard. We have been homeless, living from paycheck to paycheck, and even depending off the government to keep us alive. My mother made a lot of mistakes that taught me what not to do. She was abusive, alcoholic, irresponsible

I walked into the room on New Year’s Day and felt a sudden twinge of fear. My eyes already hurt from the tears I had shed and those tears would not stop even then the last viewing before we had to leave. She lay quietly on the bed with her face as void of emotion as a sheet of paper without the writing. Slowly, I approached the cold lifeless form that was once my mother and gave her a goodbye kiss.

She looked so small, so defeated and it was all because of me. Her enthusiasm for reading dampened, the light behind her eyes dim. Like the worst type of criminal stealing bread from the poor, I had stolen the burning passion for education my mother had once possessed. She was innocent, but I was not. With no makeup to conceal them, sleepless bags under her eyes stood out on her pale face. She appeared delicate, a word that before the accident I would have never used in relation to my mother. The terrible ocean of grief pulled back it’s debilitating waves, leaving salty tears clinging to my face. The stream of emotion pulled back with it whatever positive attitude I had. In its place was left hatred like no other. A hated for the world, hatred for myself. I didn’t want to watch this anymore, I couldn’t bare to look, unable to lay eyes on the life I had ruined by destroying my

My mother told me that she could never redo her mistake; she “fell in love with me.”

I unbuckled my car seat and leaned forward to see my mother’s tear stricken face. I had never seen my mother cry with such sincerity. Her mascara streaking down her cheeks, creating canals of charcoal grime that tarnished her otherwise flawless face. Her breath seemed to catch in her throat as she attempted to talk through another sob. The sight of her pulled me back to only minutes earlier when

When I was a very young child, my mom died. It was an accident, or, at least, that’s what my dad always told me. I never quite believed it, but I knew better than to push it at that time. Because I had a sister to support – Samantha. She was four years younger than me, and she was my responsibility from the very beginning. Or so my father tried to convince me. I was always to be taking care of Sammy – Sammy came first. Everything was about her, but I could tell her nothing.

I walked over to the kitchen and placed the box on the ice cold counter top. My mind was blank as I crossed the house to my mom's bathroom looking for tissues. Although the tears had stopped, only moments ago, they began to flow once more when I saw my mom’s face. My mom grabbed me and hugged me. I didn’t want her to ever let me go. We just stood there and hugged as I cried wishing for him to come back.