All roads lead to Rome.

and my mother. Always my mother. And I don't know why. I still feel better or less stressed when I can excuse her behavior, no matter if I have to wriggle to the point where it was really all my fault. No matter how farfetched, I can always go back to the point where I should have known or done better or different. In the past I rarely really questioned her authority or her right to punish me. Even my fantasies (not counting the fantasies where I saved the world and lived happily ever after surrounded by talking animals and all good humans had birds to fly them places) revolved around me doing nothing wrong for once. If I had aligned all light-switches right without getting caught doing so, there was a high chance next day she would overlook something I had done bad. Days were too long to do everything right or I was too rotten. And I believed that it was her kindness that saved me from punishments or her goodwill to not spoil the atmosphere. There was no other explanation because well I was bad. It had to be that, because whenever it exploded again she had a huge list of all my wrongs during those days or weeks where all seemed right. I'm not sure I can explain it any better. And yes, while writing this I can see how distorted my view looks from a distance.
But still I can't seem to change it. It's where I hopelessly get mixed up. Whenever someone claims I'm doing something wrong I agree (mostly not openly) and I just quit. I know I'm doing it all wrong, I know I should do better, if only, but I also know I cannot. I can never be good. Be it work, games, social interactions, somewhere sometime someone will tell me I did something bad. And that's sorta the end. I can't ask what I did wrong since I should know. I can't ask how to avoid doing the bad since I should know. I can't ask at what point it will be good enough since you can always do better. Stuck. And I give up. I go make blatant mistakes since then at least I know what and where I go wrong. I mostly get by with claiming that I think it's good enough and if you don't like it that's your problem. Which works most the times.

I don't really fear my mother in the way that I'm afraid she be waiting for me after the next door or come hunting me because I broke a glass. The thought however to see her again scares the shit out of me, since I know I done wrong and we might both forget I'm not twelve anymore.
And blah, this whole post seems so wrong on so many levels.