I believe there comes a time when most children with parents experience some form of disgust towards their folks. I'm not talking embarrassment, I'm not talking incomprehension. I'm talking disgust. Disdain. The wrinkling of the nose, the frowning of the eyes, the downturn on the lips, maybe some barring of the teeth.

Disgust.

And it's never easy to deal with that feeling.

Most children are brought up on the concept of respecting their elders and parents. They're aware that they're dependent on them. They have much to be thankful for because of their parents. But it doesn't change the fact that there are times when one feels mortified by their behaviour, which slowly changes to disgust, and gradually, it bleeds into resentment.

Tonight, I felt disgusted. Tonight, I felt resentment. Tonight, I felt annoyed, irritated and angry.

They are not pleasant feelings.

They are not pleasant thoughts.

But I feel like I can understand some of how my relatives feel at times, and the worse part is: it will happen again.

I know it will.

I'm dealing with an individual who is headstrong and so sure of their own abilities, however outdated they might be, that they. Will. Not. Listen. To. Reason.

And, in a sense, I am a cowardly pacifist. I hate confrontations. I dislike them strongly. I also tend to err on the side of practicality. I do not like wasting my time, my energy, my effort and my emotional peace trying to shed light in places that refuse to take it.

So I do not confront. So I do not express verbally.

And the cycle will continue. Because this individual will not wake up the next morning thinking that the night before was a mistake in excess and the next time, there shall be better self control.

I suspect some dependency as well.

I do not like this cycle. I detest it quite strongly.

And the scary thing is that I feel unsafe whenever it occurs. But it's not like she gives a flying rat's ass about my psychological and emotional welfare when the decision is to partake or not.

And people wonder why I act the way I do.

I swear, I miss the days when I was overseas on my own and I didn't have to pick up after anyone but myself and the cat. Because I don't mind picking up after someone who's ill, or bedridden, or physically incapable of doing so on their own due to circumstances beyond their control.

When it's a consequence of poor judgement and poorer self control, I mind.

And so ends my little ranting episode of catharsis.