Everyone thinks I'm showing off when I talk, ridiculous when I'm silent, insolent when I answer, cunning when I have a good idea,
lazy when I'm tired, selfish when I eat one bite more than I should, stupid, cowardly, calculating, etc., etc.
All day long I hear nothing but what an exasperating child I am, and although I laugh it off and pretend not to mind, I do mind.
I wish I could ask God to give me another personality, one that doesn't antagonize everyone.
But that's impossible. I'm stuck with the character I was born with, and yet I'm sure I'm not a bad person.
I do my best to please everyone, more than they'd ever suspect in a million years.
When I'm upstairs, I try to laugh it off because I don't want them to see my troubles.
More than once, after a series of absurd reproaches, I've snapped at Mother: “I don't care what you say.
Why don't you just wash your hands of me — I'm a hopeless case.”
Of course, she'd tell me not to talk back and virtually ignore me for two days.
Then suddenly all would be forgotten and she'd treat me like everyone else.
It's impossible for me to be all smiles one day and venomous the next.
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