She is her mothers' daughter

I am raising a difficult child. She lacks self control, self confidence. She has poor social skills, poor attention. She throws tantrums. Big, loud, on the floor, red in the face, screaming bloody murder tantrums. She lacks focus. She's the child who can't keep friends. The child who the teacher prays is absent. She's embarrassing. She doesn't listen to authority. She doesn't care to learn how to do things with help. She craves independence but can't stand to be alone. She's loud. At times she is hard to like. She breaks my heart. She tells me that she will one day leave me and never speak to me again. She's rude. She says mean things. Calls people names and makes faces. She shows little pride in her accomplishments because she doesn't care to accomplish things. She is sensitive to many things...clothing, food, words. She doesn't respect rules. She has a short fuse, a quick temper. I started noticing theses things during my post partum depression. Things only got worse once I stopped taking the medication that numbed me, quieted the background noise. I became overwhelmed and out numbered. I became a difficult mother and she looks up to me. I lack self control and self confidence. I have poor social skills and attention. I throw tantrums. Big, loud, on the floor, red in the face, screaming bloody murder, hold my child by her shoulders up in the air against the wall tantrums. I lack focus, desire, motivation. I am a bully. I pray that I get sick enough that I end up in the hospital in a quiet room with no one around. I am embarrassed. I pretend that I am the authority but no one listens. I don't care to do anything I used to enjoy. I fear that I will push her away so far that she will never speak to me again. I am rude to my family. I say mean things to them. I call them names and make faces. I have no pride. I am sensitive to many things, especially words. I hate to make rules. I have a short fuse and at times, a very scary temper. I sneak into her room late at night and kiss her soft face. Whisper in her ear how much I love her. That she is the best girl in the whole wide world and that I love her to the moon and back and forth. I stroke her hair and cry and apologize for being the way that I am, the way that she is. She is her mothers' daughter.