An Evening with a Woman Called Mother
Mother, gifter of life - decided that she was being *destroyed* in the nursing home and called me this morning to let me know she was coming to me because otherwise she would die. Now I know where my drama and all the insane thinking comes from. Everything is a catastrophe. Everything is a holocaust. The world spins on hysteria, crying and then more anxiety filling worlds, minds and heads in that vicinity with this twist. And I am a victim and why is the world so bad and how terrible is the air, water, and food and people and on and on and on. And I've intherited this.
And into my world of non-expression. non-connection she comes. Horrified at how I live - in *these condtions* of poverty. I said - this is good. You should see how people in Darfur live. And my mouth and mind are in direct opposition to hers and have been since inception. I have zero compassion for this woman and do I care at all - I'm beyond caring. And in my seething, sick, frozen state I am feeling rage at what kind of upbringing I've had in what circumstances and how I am supposed to be NORMAL when all this is is a game of who can play the sickest person and win. Fuck that. Truly and utterly.
I am not my mother's parent - yet that is what has been taken from me - my boundaries, my self - and have been asked to be a mother to my mother. Fuck. I can't be a mother to my own son. And there's a reason for that too.
When I heard she was on her way - the first thing I thought was - get real hard stoned. Whatever it takes. Downed a benzedrine and have been downing the odd drink all day just to numb out because raw it's impossible.
After the charade of her going on in *how can I stay here in this place*? I said *how do you think I've been living all these years*? It just never occured to her. It's not that my poverty gets to her, it's how it effects HER. That basically is the premise of my entire life. I was sick as a child - how that played on her. I was a failure/success - how that reflected on her. I am an unsuccessful person - that is shameful to her. It's not me that matters or ever did - it's my reflection and how that effects her. And that is the genesis and the quantum analysis of my life. And she'll never understand who I am - what I am - and even come close to my essence. And frankly, I've been so pulverized by her all those years growing up with her - that I am stone cold to the touch. No emotion. No feeling. Cold. Dead and unmoved by hysteria. And the hysteria now continues - with how bad I am, I'm a terrible person - everything is a catastrophe ad infintum.
This is what it is. Me - the world - the woman who birthed me - her presence here - my defiancy - this charade - this sickness - whatever it is. My essence as it was given to me - the mirror - a huge F you for who you really are - and now you will ONLY serve ME. And that is how it was for 14 years till I started fighting for my own life - separation - and years and years went by without talking to her. And this pulling me back in and the hysteria has only worsened - and what is there to do.
GOD - I wanted to do the right thing - opening up my house and heart with hospitality - I haven't a CLUE - NOT ONE FUCKING CLUE - how to relate to this woman you gave me as a mother. NOT ONE BLOODY INKLING.
And into my world of non-expression. non-connection she comes. Horrified at how I live - in *these condtions* of poverty. I said - this is good. You should see how people in Darfur live. And my mouth and mind are in direct opposition to hers and have been since inception. I have zero compassion for this woman and do I care at all - I'm beyond caring. And in my seething, sick, frozen state I am feeling rage at what kind of upbringing I've had in what circumstances and how I am supposed to be NORMAL when all this is is a game of who can play the sickest person and win. Fuck that. Truly and utterly.
I am not my mother's parent - yet that is what has been taken from me - my boundaries, my self - and have been asked to be a mother to my mother. Fuck. I can't be a mother to my own son. And there's a reason for that too.
When I heard she was on her way - the first thing I thought was - get real hard stoned. Whatever it takes. Downed a benzedrine and have been downing the odd drink all day just to numb out because raw it's impossible.
After the charade of her going on in *how can I stay here in this place*? I said *how do you think I've been living all these years*? It just never occured to her. It's not that my poverty gets to her, it's how it effects HER. That basically is the premise of my entire life. I was sick as a child - how that played on her. I was a failure/success - how that reflected on her. I am an unsuccessful person - that is shameful to her. It's not me that matters or ever did - it's my reflection and how that effects her. And that is the genesis and the quantum analysis of my life. And she'll never understand who I am - what I am - and even come close to my essence. And frankly, I've been so pulverized by her all those years growing up with her - that I am stone cold to the touch. No emotion. No feeling. Cold. Dead and unmoved by hysteria. And the hysteria now continues - with how bad I am, I'm a terrible person - everything is a catastrophe ad infintum.
This is what it is. Me - the world - the woman who birthed me - her presence here - my defiancy - this charade - this sickness - whatever it is. My essence as it was given to me - the mirror - a huge F you for who you really are - and now you will ONLY serve ME. And that is how it was for 14 years till I started fighting for my own life - separation - and years and years went by without talking to her. And this pulling me back in and the hysteria has only worsened - and what is there to do.
GOD - I wanted to do the right thing - opening up my house and heart with hospitality - I haven't a CLUE - NOT ONE FUCKING CLUE - how to relate to this woman you gave me as a mother. NOT ONE BLOODY INKLING.
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