Dearest Kitty,Mother's nerves are v

Dearest Kitty,

Mother's nerves are very much on edge, and that doesn't bode well for me. Is it just a coincidence that Father and Mother never scold Margot and always blame me for everything? Last night, for example, Margot was reading a book with beautiful illustrations; she got up and put the book aside for later. I wasn't doing anything, so I picked it up and began looking at the pictures. Margot came back, saw' "her" book in my hands, knitted her brow and angrily demanded the book back. I wanted to look through it some more. Margot got madder by the minute, and Mother butted in: "Margot was reading that book; give it back to her."

Father came in, and without even knowing what was going on, saw that Margot was being wronged and lashed out at me: "I'd like to see what you'd do if Margot was looking at one of your books!"

I promptly gave in, put the book down and, according to them, left the room' 'in a huff." I was neither huffy nor cross, but merely sad.

It wasn't right of Father to pass judgment without knowing what the issue was. I would have given the book to Margot myself, and a lot sooner, if Father and Mother hadn't intervened and rushed to take Margot's part, as if she were suffering some great injustice.

Of course, Mother took Margot's side; they always take each other's sides. I'm so used to it that I've become completely indifferent to Mother's rebukes and Margot's moodiness. I love them, but only because they're Mother and Margot. I don't give a darn about them as people. As far as I'm concerned, they can go jump in a lake. It's different with Father. When I see him being partial to Margot, approving Margot's every action, praising her, hugging her, I feel a gnawing ache inside, because I'm crazy about him. I model myself after Father, and there's no one in the world I love more. He doesn't realize that he treats Margot differently than he does me: Margot just happens to be the smartest, the kindest, the prettiest and the best. But I have a right to be taken seriously too. I've always been the clown and mischief maker of the family; I've always had to pay double for my sins: once with scoldings and then again with my own sense of despair. I'm no longer satisfied with the meaningless affection or the supposedly serious talks. I long for something from Father that he's incapable of giving. I'm not jealous of Margot; I never have been. I'm not envious of her brains or her beauty. It's just that I'd like to feel that Father really loves me, not because I'm his child, but because I'm me, Anne.

I cling to Father because my contempt of Mother is growing daily and it's only through him that I'm able to retain the last ounce of family feeling I have left. He doesn't understand that I sometimes need to vent my feelings for Mother. He doesn't want to talk about it, and he avoids any discussion involving Mother's failings. And yet Mother, with all her shortcomings, is tougher for me to deal with. I don't know how I should act. I can't very well confront her with her carelessness, her sarcasm and her hard-heartedness, yet I can't continue to take the blame for everything.

I'm the opposite of Mother, so of course we clash. I don't mean to judge her; I don't have that right. I'm simply looking at her as a mother. She's not a mother to me -- I have to mother myself. I've cut myself adrift from them. I'm charting my own course, and we'll see where it leads me. I have no choice, because I can picture what a mother and a wife should be and can't seem to find anything of the sort in the woman I'm supposed to call "Mother."

I tell myself time and again to overlook Mother's bad example. I only want to see her good points, and to look inside myself for what's lacking in her. But it doesn't work, and the worst part is that Father and Mother don't realize their own inadequacies and how much I blame them for letting me down. Are there any parents who can make their children completely happy?

Sometimes I think God is trying to test me, both now and in the future. I'll have to become a good person on my own, without anyone to serve as a model or advise me, but it'll make me stronger in the end.

Who else but me is ever going to read these letters? Who else but me can I turn to for comfort? I'm frequently in need of consolation, I often feel weak, and more often than not, I fail to meet expectations. I know this, and every day I resolve to do better.

They aren't consistent in their treatment of me. One day they say that Anne's a sensible girl and entitled to know everything, and the next that Anne's a silly goose who doesn't know a thing and yet imagines she's learned all she needs to know from books! I'm no longer the baby and spoiled little darling whose every deed can be laughed at. I have my own ideas, plans and ideals, but am unable to articulate them yet.

Oh well. So much comes into my head at night when I'm alone, or during the day when I'm obliged to put up with people I can't abide or who invariably misinterpret my intentions. That's why I always wind up coming back to my diary -I start there and end there because Kitty's always patient. I promise her that, despite everything, I'll keep going, that I'll find my own way and choke back my tears. I only wish I could see some results or, just once, receive encouragement from someone who loves me.

Don't condemn me, but think of me as a person who sometimes reaches the bursting point!

Yours,

Anne

Kết quả (Việt) 1:

Thân yêu nhất Kitty,Dây thần kinh của mẹ là rất nhiều cạnh, và đó không bode tốt cho tôi. Là nó chỉ cần một sự trùng hợp rằng cha và mẹ không bao giờ scold Margot và luôn luôn đổ lỗi cho tôi cho tất cả mọi thứ? Đêm qua, ví dụ, Margot đã đọc một cuốn sách với minh họa đẹp; cô đứng dậy và đặt cuốn sách dành cho sau này. Tôi đã không làm bất cứ điều gì, vì vậy tôi chọn nó lên và bắt đầu nhìn vào hình ảnh. Margot trở lại, đã thấy ' "của mình" cuốn sách trong tay tôi, dệt kim trán của cô và giận dữ yêu cầu trở lại sách. Tôi muốn xem xét thông qua nó một số chi tiết. Margot có madder bởi phút, và mẹ khám: "Margot đã đọc cuốn sách đó; cung cấp cho nó trở lại với cô ấy."Cha đến ở, và mà không biết những gì đã đi, thấy rằng Margot đã wronged và lashed ra tại tôi: "tôi muốn xem những gì bạn sẽ làm gì nếu Margot đã xem xét một trong cuốn sách của bạn!"Tôi nhanh chóng đã, dẹp cuốn sách và, theo họ, rời khỏi phòng ' ' trong một cơn giận. " Tôi đã không huffy cũng không chéo, nhưng chỉ đơn thuần là buồn.Nó không phải của cha để vượt qua bản án mà không biết những gì vấn đề là. Tôi sẽ có được cuốn sách để Margot bản thân mình, và rất nhiều sớm hơn, nếu cha và mẹ đã không can thiệp và đổ xô đến tham gia của Margot, như thể nó đã bị một số bất công tuyệt vời.Tất nhiên, mẹ đã của Margot bên; họ luôn luôn có mặt của nhau. Vì vậy tôi đang sử dụng để nó rằng tôi đã trở nên hoàn toàn không thích mẹ rebukes và Margot của moodiness. Tôi yêu họ, nhưng chỉ vì họ là mẹ và Margot. Tôi không đưa ra một darn về chúng như là con người. Như xa như tôi là có liên quan, họ có thể đi nhảy tại một hồ nước. Nó là khác nhau với cha. Khi tôi nhìn thấy anh ta được một phần để Margot, phê duyệt của Margot mọi hành động, ca ngợi cô ấy, ôm cô ấy, tôi cảm thấy một đau gnawing bên trong, bởi vì tôi là điên về anh ta. Tôi mô hình bản thân mình sau khi cha, và không có không có ai trong thế giới tôi thích hơn. Ông không nhận ra rằng anh ta xử lý Margot một cách khác nhau hơn ông đã làm tôi: Margot chỉ xảy ra là người thông minh nhất, kindest, đẹp và tốt nhất. Nhưng tôi đã phải được thực hiện nghiêm túc quá. Tôi đã luôn luôn là các hãng sản xuất hề và nghịch ngợm của gia đình; Tôi đã luôn luôn phải trả gấp đôi cho tội lỗi của tôi: một lần với scoldings và sau đó một lần nữa với của riêng tôi cảm giác tuyệt vọng. Tôi không hài lòng với tình vô nghĩa hoặc các cuộc đàm phán được cho là nghiêm trọng. Tôi dài cho một cái gì đó từ cha ông là không có khả năng đưa ra. Tôi là không ghen tuông của Margot; Tôi không bao giờ có. Tôi không phải ganh tị của bộ não của mình hoặc vẻ đẹp của cô. Nó chỉ là tôi muốn cảm thấy rằng cha thực sự yêu thương tôi, không phải vì tôi là trẻ em của mình, nhưng vì tôi là tôi, Anne.I cling to Father because my contempt of Mother is growing daily and it's only through him that I'm able to retain the last ounce of family feeling I have left. He doesn't understand that I sometimes need to vent my feelings for Mother. He doesn't want to talk about it, and he avoids any discussion involving Mother's failings. And yet Mother, with all her shortcomings, is tougher for me to deal with. I don't know how I should act. I can't very well confront her with her carelessness, her sarcasm and her hard-heartedness, yet I can't continue to take the blame for everything.I'm the opposite of Mother, so of course we clash. I don't mean to judge her; I don't have that right. I'm simply looking at her as a mother. She's not a mother to me -- I have to mother myself. I've cut myself adrift from them. I'm charting my own course, and we'll see where it leads me. I have no choice, because I can picture what a mother and a wife should be and can't seem to find anything of the sort in the woman I'm supposed to call "Mother."I tell myself time and again to overlook Mother's bad example. I only want to see her good points, and to look inside myself for what's lacking in her. But it doesn't work, and the worst part is that Father and Mother don't realize their own inadequacies and how much I blame them for letting me down. Are there any parents who can make their children completely happy?Sometimes I think God is trying to test me, both now and in the future. I'll have to become a good person on my own, without anyone to serve as a model or advise me, but it'll make me stronger in the end.Who else but me is ever going to read these letters? Who else but me can I turn to for comfort? I'm frequently in need of consolation, I often feel weak, and more often than not, I fail to meet expectations. I know this, and every day I resolve to do better.They aren't consistent in their treatment of me. One day they say that Anne's a sensible girl and entitled to know everything, and the next that Anne's a silly goose who doesn't know a thing and yet imagines she's learned all she needs to know from books! I'm no longer the baby and spoiled little darling whose every deed can be laughed at. I have my own ideas, plans and ideals, but am unable to articulate them yet.Oh well. So much comes into my head at night when I'm alone, or during the day when I'm obliged to put up with people I can't abide or who invariably misinterpret my intentions. That's why I always wind up coming back to my diary -I start there and end there because Kitty's always patient. I promise her that, despite everything, I'll keep going, that I'll find my own way and choke back my tears. I only wish I could see some results or, just once, receive encouragement from someone who loves me.Don't condemn me, but think of me as a person who sometimes reaches the bursting point!Yours,Anne