Mother

I lived with my mother until I was eleven. She once told me that I was a planned child. Yet when I was twelve she told me she doesn't want me to live with her anymore because "she got her own life now". Now, if she would have been the jetsetting type, I might've understood. When you travel a lot a child can be a burden, limiting you in your personal fulfillment. But my mother spent her newly acquired own life on her butt on the couch, infront of the TV.
Why do you want a child when you get rid of it after twelve years? I have my speculations about this. She separated from my father when I was five, first we went from one hotel to another, after she went to the lawyer she received spousal support. Even after I got older, she never looked for a job. She just didn't wanted to work, always had excuses. She was lazy. My father later told me it's always been like that, even though he got her a well-paid job in a big firm (prior to my birth), she always complained about work and later quit because "her eyes hurt" (she had to work with small parts and apparently there was bad light. Totally valid reason to quit your job).
So yes, I believe her when she says I was planned, because she needed a good reason not to work anymore. A child comes in handy there. But after she had her spousal support, what need is there for a child anymore? Why spend any of the money on me if she could have it all to herself. My parents were married for 22 years, even though I wasn't living with her anymore, for my father there was no getting out of the obligation to pay for her upkeep.

When I was about ten, my mother got sick. She started acting weird, cutting the cables in our appartment, throwing mirrors out of the window, she stopped speaking and only communicated through signs and noises. She got paranoid and "heard voices". She would later be diagnosed with schizophrenia. The worst thing was when she attacked me. She grabbed me by the throat, pushed me on my bed and tried to rip out my braces with pliers. It was because I once mentioned my teeth hurt sometimes.
I was able to hold her off, but I don't think I've ever been so scared in my life before, and haven't been ever since.
The situation escalated when she locked me up and wouldn't let me go to school. It might seem strange for a normal person, but up to this point it didn't even occur to me to tell anyone about her condition. And no one noticed, because she basically had no social life. She had no job, so there were no working colleagues, she had no friends, we never had any visitors. I grew up very isolated, it was only the two of us. The only people who had a bit of contact with her were her ex-husband and her mother. I don't know why no one did anything. It just... happened and I tried to deal with it.
So this one day she locked me up, and I started screaming. The neighbours heard me and called the police, and due to her behaviour and threatening, they arrested her. She resisted and they had to carry her down the stairs. And I went to school like always.
After school, my father, who I hadn't really known that much about so far, came to pick me up with the words "your mother lost her shit completely, you're living with me from now on".
I was eleven.

My fathers then-girlfriend didn't like me. She always insisted that I go back to my mother after she recovered (she was in a mental hospital). There was some back and forth and I eventually went back to her. I was twelve or thirteen now. But after a few months her condition worsened again, I tried to stay for as long as I could, but ended up calling my father. So I went back to live with him again. Sometime during that period (she had no one to look after her, no medication or anything), I was told to come visit her at the hospital, because she had a stomach ulcer that bursted. She had a very big scar that went from the right side of her stomach all the way to the left. She claimed it was an emergency surgery and the doctors hadn't expected her to survive. I believed that. My mother had always been the only person in my life, it didn't even occur to me to doubt her. And no one told me otherwise. Ten years later I found out it was a suicide attempt and the scar came from cutting her stomach open by herself. This caused her a permanent damage to her stomach tissue, and she could only eat "light" things that could be digested easily. The worst thing is, she used it as an excuse not to work. Everytime my father mentioned the job topic, she referred to her "stomach problems".

I haven't spoken with my mother in ten years now. I don't know what kind of person I would've become if I hadn't been taken away from her. This woman is harmful, damaging herself and those around her. When you read this, you might feel sympathy, or pity for her. Don't. She caused everything that happened to her by herself. By deciding not to make anything out of her life, just looking for a man to marry and impregnate her so she doesn't have to take care of herself, she brought all this down on herself.
Yes, a life can be hard. There are many hardships for a woman, it can be hard to work because you might not get along with your colleagues or your boss, you might get tasks assigned that you fail, there is stress and embarassment. But by trying to take the easy way out you condemn yourself to a life of boredom, lack of self-respect and low self-confidence.
One thing I strongly remember about my mother is how she thought and spoke of herself. She defined herself by what men thought about her. That she was considered attractive by men was probably the only source of confidence for her. She had no hobbies or interests, did no activities she was good in, hardly ever read a book. Even though she had achieved nothing, she was very proud. She thought of herself as beautiful and intelligent. She felt superior to others. But it was just something she told to herself, deep inside she knew it wasn't true. But she had to keep her positive self-perception. And she told me all of that so somebody else would think of her like that, too. And I did. For a long time I did, but now that I see the things on a wider scale, all that's left is... contempt. And the hope that I will never become like her.
There are similarities between us. I grew up isolated, and I still live quite an isolated life dealing with social anxiety. Relationships are at least difficult, if not impossible for me. But I work. And I don't depend on men, like she always did. I face my hardships, and I deal with them. That some men perceive me as pretty is not my main source of confidence. I have a lot of interests.
I believe that I won't become like her.