I also realize that some people do not believe what I write. There is nothing I can do about that. I am writing this blog for me so read if you are interested and don’t if you are not. My childhood was difficult to endure and I am struggling to survive years later. How am I supposed to survive when these are the things I see when I close my eyes? There is more that I have yet to write about, but for the most part I have written about the worst of it, I think. At least the worst that involves me.
Back to my mother…
The truth is my mother wasn’t always so harsh or abusive. My mother was a woman of extremes. When she was angry, she was extremely angry. When she was happy she was extremely happy. The truth is she could be extremely loving sometimes too. I realize my life is hard for some people to swallow and it’s easy to blame everything on the mother. My mother had a hard life as a child and she had a hard life as an adult. She was in and out of foster care as a child, and a hardcore drug user after being gang raped at 11. My brother was also a product of rape (or at least that is what I have been told). So try not to judge her too harshly based on what I write.
When she was sober she was amazing. There were a few times in my childhood when my mother really tried to be a good mom. She really did. She really tried to get her life together and provide for us. For a while she was going to school and nearly became a medical assistant. She had to get her GED since she never finished high school and then worked so hard until she quit two weeks before finishing school. I don’t know why. I guess she just didn’t have the strength to stay sober. When she was sober she is the mother I still cry for at night. She was home and not so angry all the time. She would cook for us and always made sure we had food to eat. She would even cook my favorite food for me sometimes too. I loved fruit salad and biscuits and gravy, not together of course. She would tell me she loved me for no reason, just because. When my mom was sober, she was a mom. When my mom was sober, she loved me.
My mother would also tell amazing bedtime stories. They did not have the most appropriate themes or language but she always captivated my mind and imagination with these long drawn out stories really late in the middle of the night when the rest of my siblings were sleeping.
That is the mother I miss. That is the mother I yearn for and still sometimes cry for. Even writing this I have to fight back the tears. It’s so hard knowing that the mother I miss so much is still alive but no longer exists. My mother is not a complete monster. A complete monster just took over her body. I don’t know where my mother went. I wish she would come back for me someday. I miss her so very much.