I am a life long member of the "Crazy Mom's Club." If you have one, then you know what I mean; passive-aggression and other more subtle forms of mental mind fucking that you won't understand until you find yourself unconsciously practicing the fine art in the midst of your own family and friend relationships. I feel that it is too soon to try to write out my thoughts on this, my current mama drama, but I need the healing that comes with sharing-plus I am literate and articulate- and I know how much this pisses her off. What better revenge than to put it all into words that she would never read anyway?
The woman lives in a reality of her own making. Always has. The dirty history is really too much for one post, and I am working on the book- just like so many of my peers. For these purposes, you need only know that I was raised by a predator, a molester. He was mom's first husband and she was as desperate as a momma cat getting ready to deliver ten kittens on the street when she met him. He was trolling for subjects for his kingdom and he found two in that ignorant girl, pregnant with a child whose father she was unsure of; and to this day, she does not know.
I was seventeen when I had had enough and found the strength to go to a school teacher for help. The man who raised me had spent his days grooming me to be his little wife. Mother was checked out for most of it, creating her own safe reality. Though, she did hear me that day. I had told on them, she had to. After years of talking about it and threatening, she drove away with us that weekend in the Gran-Torino all the way to her sister's in Kansas . It was the last I was able to talk about it for years. Everyone, my mother and her sister, who were also abused sexually, wanted me to "SHUT-UP!"
I let Mom back into my life several years ago after keeping her out for years, because well, we only get one mother in this life and I felt that it was important. There were many things that we just could not talk about, many elephants in the room and I have suffered over these last few years from the inauthentic relationship. It made me feel as though I was living a double life, one from a place of truth and the other with Mom from a place of half-truths and out right lies. I did it out of a sense of duty, I did it because after all these years, I am still the "mother" in our relationship and felt that it was my job to protect her from harsh reality.
Me, I am Punk-Rock. You won't close my mouth, not at seven-teen, not at thirty-six!
Ironically, she works in phlebotomy- draws people's blood for a living (and she is good at it.) Mom sent a text last Friday on her lunch break to tell me that her heart had been broken again and she was not sure that she could go on. I had to wait four hours for her to get home to find out what the hell she was talking about. Turns out my half-brother (we were raised to believe we had the same father) was arrested for child abuse, of the physical sort. My nephew is thirteen now, and I haven't spoken to my brother since his child was born into his own abusive home; my brother was a wife beater who chose to keep ties to the man who abused us.
Mom finally called with her usual crocodile tears, and shouted that it was all her fault-that my brother was an abuser because her father had been a pedophile. When I responded emphatically that my father had been a pedophile, she fell silent. It did not take too long for the conversation to take a dramatic turn and I hung up on her when she slipped up in one of her "white lies" and revealed that my brother was living in the same state as my abuser. At least as far as I knew- evidently my abuser moved away form Florida some time ago to a state much closer to me, but I was never told. There was a series of texts after that in which she called me a liar and blamed me for the messes that she and my brother had created.
It isn't my job to protect her from the truth, and I am too old for her little games. I just don't have the energy to live two lives anymore. I have had to find a way to deal from a place of truth all these years. My story is not the kind I get to share while sitting around at the holiday table. The things is, I don't blame her for what happened, she was young and ignorant and desperate. I blame her for the sloppy way she has continued to handle it. I could use all that happened as an excuse, but I don't; or at least I am quick to stop myself when I find that I am slipping into that pit.
At the end of the day, what I am left with are a bunch of crappy memories and zero family ties. While this makes me very sad, I feel strength in refusing to live an inauthentic life. I have not always been the perfect daughter, it has taken me a long time to feel out my path. Along the way, I have had friends that became toxic and we had to go our separate ways. Sometimes, I have been the toxic one and friends have had to leave me, too. I no longer feel that blood-ties should be the exception to this life rule; toxic is toxic and must be handled accordingly.
I waffled about whether or not to post this. It is an ugly story, but one that I feel needs to be shared. I am not the only one suffering from family drama, and I wanted to share with you how one person decided to deal with it. When the people you love can no longer see you or hear you, it is time, as is said, to turn from them and wipe the dust of them from your feet. There is no reason to feel guilty. While there will be sadness, wipe the tears from your eyes and hold your head high. They can't hurt you anymore.