I think my mother might have hated me. I know she resented me, but I was never sure why. Maybe because I was smarter than the Golden Prince and the Golden Prince was supposed to be the smartest. Maybe because I never had to ask her to help me understand things. I always thought my take on things (still do) is the right one for me and usually the right one. Just the right one.
Maybe it was because I was just something she had to do, like because of the day and age she lived in, or because she was Catholic, or because nobody she had ever heard of had just one kid, so another one was supposed to come along. I do know that she felt she had to have another kid and it was planned at a drawing board so it was convenient for everyone.
She was pretty, much more pretty than the average bear I am led to believe, but a child can never have an unbiased viewpoint about that. I think she thought I was ugly. I look at pictures of me at every age, and I think I was the cutest thing. I would die to have had a little curly headed redhead girl. Instead she got her. I only remember being teased about some really major times in my life, like getting a figure. And God made that shit up to me. He gave me a great figure. I feel like God knew what was going on and tried to lend a helping hand. But now I am shaken in my belief.
My mom died a few years ago and one of my brothers cannot get over it. He idolizes her. I only remember the embarrassment she caused me, singling me out for jokes in front of company, drinking until she was staggering and slurring, caring about “care” in so far only as it applied to my father. I feel like she was never herself. I feel like I was always myself. I feel/still feel like I had to be—that I was all I had to cling to. And it is only me that it holding me together, keeping me standing right now.
My mother left me with two horrible unsolvable problems. No matter how strong I feel or how strong I am, I cannot solve these problems. I can only stand here like a dessicated sponge soaking up pain from these two problems, every day, every minute of my life. That’s all I can do in my life—while I have life.
I feel strongly about karma, and as a joke, I say, what ever it was that I did to deserve this, I hope I enjoyed it. But I cannot imagine. I do not believe I have ever hurt anyone as much as these two things are hurting me. And I cannot see that, under any circumstances or imagined scenario that I will learn or become stronger from this. I feel like it is chipping away at my heart bit by bit with an extremely dull and cold chisel. I know it is impossible for me to ever know the outcome or the possible rewards for living through this in my lifetime, if ever.
I ask her, probably daily, why she did this to me. Not that it doesn’t impact other people. It does. And others are being terribly hurt, but it still seems like I am the focus. And it is an absolute truth that both things things have been placed here by her. I don’t get it. There is no lesson embedded in this. It is just pain, pointless, unnecessary pain. I hope that is not the legacy that I leave behind me.
I receive professional advice , psychoactive meds, and counsel from wise and loving people whose views I value greatly and admire, but all I ever walk away with is that I have to make peace with the situation. I can’t. I refuse to. If I had a large rusty nail sticking out of my forehead I would not endeavor to ignore the discomfort, nor would I ask people to ignore the fact that a large rusty nail is sticking out of my forehead because I am being so fucking brave about it that they shouldn’t call attention to it. They should pretend it is not there. Because I am working so hard to pretend it is not there. No. Pull the fucking nail out for Christ’s sake.