Saturday, October 16, 2010

My mother

I actually wrote this the night before I got the most recent email from my mother.  Is she psychic?

Rated R for RAW.



Mother.  Isn’t that who most people blame all their adult problems on?  Isn’t that what most therapy is based on?  The mother?  My mother is a mystery to me.  She always has been--always will be.  She is seductive and charming and unbelievably cruel.

Most of my memories of my mother are not pleasant ones, though she did have her moments.  She was only 17 and a hardcore drug addict when I was born.  My path to foster care was inevitable.  I wish CPS had kept me when I was an infant and adopted me out instead of giving me back to her over and over again for 8 years.  How many chances is one person allowed to have when the lives of children are at stake?  We were taken away more than ten times before they severed her rights.

I think my mother gets away with so much in life because she is the type of person that makes you want to take care of her.   She is very good at playing the victim.  She’s very good at feigning helplessness.  She fools everyone.  She takes advantage of everyone. 

Most of my memories of my mother revolve around her being passed out on the couch, raging at us, leaving us home alone for days, and the wild parties she would have.  Usually we were allowed to attend these adult parties that involved pornography, drugs, and intoxicated adults.  Sometimes we would be locked in closets during these parties.  We spent most of our time on the road traveling from motel to motel, so these closets were usually extremely small!

One positive memory I have of my mother was this special time we would have together in the bathroom.  We would go in there with a soda can, a lighter, and her “special medication to help her stop smoking.”  This special medication turned out to be crack cocaine that my mother would smoke with me in the bathroom.  I would help her hold the can so she could toke out of it.  I loved this time with my mother.  It made me feel special.  It was our private time together and while we were in there she would tell me how much she loved me and what a good girl I was.  This special mediation made her happy and for a little while she would do fun things with us.  She would turn on the music really loud and dance around the house, apartment, or motel with us.  She would tell us stories and make us laugh.  She would cook for us.  She liked us.


These times always came with a price.  After the fun was always the fall.  Anything we did would ignite her temper.  She would become furious and rage at me.  Where I was smart and pretty in the bathroom helping her smoke crack, I was now “disgusting and worth nothing.”  “You have done nothing but ruin my life since I brought you into this world you good for nothing whore.”  These times were saved especially for me.  I was the oldest.  I was the one that ruined her life at 17.  She would find whatever I loved, a new doll I got for my birthday, my favorite shirt, anything and destroy it in front of me to “teach me some respect.” 



I have this horrible habit--It’s a tick really.  I still do it today but I had much less control of it as a child.  When I’m nervous I laugh or smile.  I can’t help it.  I would try my hardest not to do it, but it would sneak out.  This would tip her over the edge.  This is when she became violent.  She would grab my hair and push my face against the wall.  “I’ll give you something to smile about you little bitch.”  I lose memory here.  I would drift off into space somewhere until it was over.  When it was over I was locked in a closet until I could be good.  Really this just meant until she remembered to let me out.  I hate closets.

Whenever my mother was violent she would come to whoever she had hurt and hold us.  She would rock us and cry and tell us how sorry she was and tell us how much she loved us.  “Momma didn’t mean it.  I’m so sorry baby.”  I yearned for these moments.  I wanted her to love me so much it hurt.

Not a lot has changed now that I am an adult.  I went to visit her when I was 20 hoping to reconnect.  I had this fantasy in my head that we would reconnect and everything would be amazing.  We’d live happily ever after.

It started out just like I had hoped.  She was sweet.  She was caring.  She was happy to see me.  That lasted about two hours--then she changed.  I was sitting in her kitchen and she was talking about how much she dislikes my brother and I told her not to talk badly about my brother.  I told her that I blame her for his problems today.  She lost it.  She started screaming and pushing me with her scooter chair.  Oh, did I mention she can’t walk today?   I’ll save that for another time.  She starts pushing me around with her scooter chair while screaming names and cruel things at me.  "Whore! Bitch! You ruin everything you fucking vile dyke."  Just like I was a child.  I was frozen for a minute.  "How old am I?  Where am I?  What's happening?"  I didn't know what to do.  I just stood there frozen.  I'm not sure what made me move, but I eventually snapped out of it and pushed the front door open and took off.

That’s the last time I ever say my mother and it will remain the last.  After that she began calling me, sending me voicemails, letters, emails, finding every online account I have.   She kept finding me no matter how may times I changed my phone number and addresses.  The sad thing is she also manages to draw me in after a while.  I buy into her sweet emails.  I want so badly to have a relationship with her.  I thought maybe an online relationship could work.  She can be so sweet and loving and exactly what I need in the exact moment I need it.  As much as I hate her--I love her and I want her to love me.  Her recent emails to me have been unbelievably cruel.  I don’t respond to her anymore, but she emails me all the time.  Sometimes they are sweet, and sometimes they aren’t.  One email was so hurtful it made my therapist emotional.  Maybe one day I will be brave enough to share it on here.  Maybe one day she will actually love me enough to stop sending me emails.