pictures say a thousand words

You know, I understand that I had no talent with music.
I understand that I sucked at that, and you were glad, because you had
something I didn't.
My whole life I tried to go my own way and even when I agreed with
you, you simply lorded it over me and wanted me to agree with you more.
Sometimes it felt like the only time I was saved, or OK, or human, was
when I said what you wanted me to say.
Even when you asked me my opinion, it was only so you could go the
other way.
It was as if I was supposed to be a projection of what you wanted to
be and didn't feel like achieving.
So I went my own way.
I did my own thing.
You got mad.
I stopped caring.
Then one day it was as if you finally saw me for the first time.
You appreciated one of my photo books.
You even wanted a copy.
I gave you my only good copy.
I cried because I was so happy that you'd finally accepted me for who
I was.
I couldn't believe you were finally proud of me and would be so proud
that you'd actually say so.
And now you tell me that I'm not as good as some guy who lives where
you wanted me to live and who obviously has more money to throw at his
equipment than I do.
You won't even acknowledge how wonderful you thought my work was.
Once again it is impossible to live up to your expectations.
So, I quit.
Go do it all yourself, and until you do, stop telling me that I'm not
as good as everyone else.
I'm one heck of a strong, smart, talented lady.
You should know.
You're my mother.