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Hate...what is it?
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<blockquote data-quote="Copabanana" data-source="post: 668141" data-attributes="member: 18958"><p>This shows real pathology. The ability to fabricate out of whole cloth, not what was said, but even who said it. I know this is true. Is she ill or a little evil? I am not sure which.</p><p>See. This is what I was struggling with. Your sister won the grand prize. The mother and the mother's things to herself. But then they disparage the prize. They still want it, even though it does not measure up, and they trash it.</p><p></p><p>The only way I can understand it is that they have an idealized picture, a lost golden mother, who produced the golden child, themselves, which they sustain no matter what. The real mother always falls short, and can be safely disparaged and even rejected. Because they have the<em> gold standard</em>, safely ensconced in themselves. We are talking here about idolatry. They have fantastical images of themselves with the mother, as if the Virgin and the Infant. That is why my sister made of herself this matriarchal mother-type.</p><p></p><p>The real mother can fall short but the idol-mother maintains. Especially if there is a pot of gold that she controls.</p><p></p><p>So, again, I am confused. Is it never the real mother they want? Do they put up with the inconveniences of the real mother, for the stuff? Or is it show? The real life captured booty that is proof to themselves and to everybody else that they have won. I mean, is it just theater? My sister insisted she loved my mother. </p><p></p><p>When I was flying back and forth to parts unknown, I was lovely and thin and confident. After I had been back here for awhile and working, little by little I put on weight and got worn out and gray. That was when she told me my hair was aging. She never commented upon my appearance when I was together. I am only now seeing what a trophy animal she had bagged when she could see me in some way relative to her, as diminished. Every time she said a mean thing she was bagging another trophy animal. Like Cecil, the Lion.</p><p></p><p>If there was any reason to get up from bed, lose my weight and go out, it would be for this...that my sister not bag any more trophy's off of my carcass. I know I should get up and be in the world for myself. But right now, I would like to no longer be a set of horns and head on her wall. Or a fur at her feet. I would rather not be an easy kill. Especially in my own mind.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Copabanana, post: 668141, member: 18958"] This shows real pathology. The ability to fabricate out of whole cloth, not what was said, but even who said it. I know this is true. Is she ill or a little evil? I am not sure which. See. This is what I was struggling with. Your sister won the grand prize. The mother and the mother's things to herself. But then they disparage the prize. They still want it, even though it does not measure up, and they trash it. The only way I can understand it is that they have an idealized picture, a lost golden mother, who produced the golden child, themselves, which they sustain no matter what. The real mother always falls short, and can be safely disparaged and even rejected. Because they have the[I] gold standard[/I], safely ensconced in themselves. We are talking here about idolatry. They have fantastical images of themselves with the mother, as if the Virgin and the Infant. That is why my sister made of herself this matriarchal mother-type. The real mother can fall short but the idol-mother maintains. Especially if there is a pot of gold that she controls. So, again, I am confused. Is it never the real mother they want? Do they put up with the inconveniences of the real mother, for the stuff? Or is it show? The real life captured booty that is proof to themselves and to everybody else that they have won. I mean, is it just theater? My sister insisted she loved my mother. When I was flying back and forth to parts unknown, I was lovely and thin and confident. After I had been back here for awhile and working, little by little I put on weight and got worn out and gray. That was when she told me my hair was aging. She never commented upon my appearance when I was together. I am only now seeing what a trophy animal she had bagged when she could see me in some way relative to her, as diminished. Every time she said a mean thing she was bagging another trophy animal. Like Cecil, the Lion. If there was any reason to get up from bed, lose my weight and go out, it would be for this...that my sister not bag any more trophy's off of my carcass. I know I should get up and be in the world for myself. But right now, I would like to no longer be a set of horns and head on her wall. Or a fur at her feet. I would rather not be an easy kill. Especially in my own mind. [/QUOTE]
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