5.22.2012

My Mother's Secret.

(I got to looking at my blog design and realized that it imitates the design of those trendy, DIY, crafty ladies who I don't necessarily blog like.  I have nothing against that style of blog, it's just not my style, and I had unintentionally mimicked the design.  In an effort to make my blog more "writer/artsy" and less "crafty/cutesy" I've changed it up.  Suggestions and feedback are appreciated.  The design is still in progress so some links won't work.  Patience please!) 


2012 sure is a strange year.  I needed something amazing to happen.  I decided that I would make sure that even one week was better than my horrible year of 2011.  So far, every detail of 2012 has been amazing and fulfilling.  Even the hard parts have their redemption, which is hard to say for years past.  I keep getting surprises about things, and Sunday May 20 was no exception.


I hate my mother.  


Let me just say it.  There. I hate her.  She was always a crappy parent to me.  She went out of her way to belittle me and make me feel unwanted.  She also used me for manipulation, lying to my dad about my brother molesting me so that she could kick him out.  We can all agree that someone who lies about their stepson molesting their own daughter is wacked in the head.  Mom was married at 15 and had my sister Amanda, in Germany, at 16, so I always attributed some of her childishness to the fact that she was deprived of a normal life--being in another country, having a kid while she was a kid.  It was a breeding ground for immaturity later in life.

It bothers me that I feel such hatred for her.  Some days it's so strong I can barely contain it.  I will literally shake with anger.  I don't hate anyone else like this, not even my dad.  For as mean and horrible as he was to me, he was also loving.  We had our good days and I'm not really fishing for approval when I say I feel in my heart that he cared about me.  I was his little girl, and maybe somewhere in his heart I still am.  My mother had no such redeeming love.  Her way of talking to me about the "facts of life" were to print off pages from a science book and send me to my Nonna's house for a week.  I was mortified when I found the diagram of a penis in my backpack.

She never went to her mother's funeral.  Or her sister's.  My mom also wouldn't let me go.  She tried to convince me how horrible those two women were; two women who loved her and tried to keep in contact with her until they both died.  I never saw my Nonna after my Dad held a gun up to her, and I watched my aunt die a very slow and painful death while my mom turned the cold shoulder and pretended they meant nothing to her.  I was so furious, most days I wished it was my mother who had died instead of my aunt.

Some days I still do wish it was her.

It's so hard to fathom that I hate my mother.  She had to push me so hard to get to this point.  I have a bad memory and just about any crime against me will be forgiven, by anybody.  Friends know I'm easy to rile up and still, easy to calm down.  They know that I do care even if it seems like I don't.  But this is different, this is hate, and it's unhealthy, and I never dreamed there would come a day when what's been building up inside me for years was released suddenly.

In short: I found out that when she was fourteen, before she ever married or had my sister, my mother got pregnant and had an abortion.  My Nonna was adamant about this--obviously back in the 70's a teen mother had way more stigma than it does now, and they were a conservative and upper-class family in their day.  My Grandfather was dying and to see his baby girl pregnant would have probably killed him for sure.  So, with my mother bawling her eyes out for days, and god knows what kind of shady horrible operation, she had the abortion and it was never spoken of again, until I found out about it.

This news affected me more strongly than I would've thought.  I bawled my eyes out.  Despite everything that she's said and done to me I felt horrible for my mother.  It was a really crazy experience, feeling pity for someone I felt nothing but disgust for, for years.  I immediately thought that I should call her and apologize for this.  Not that it was my fault or anything, but I'm sure Mom never had anyone apologize for what she'd gone through or anybody to even care.  I'm not saying getting an abortion was a bad thing--who knows what I would've done to my fourteen year old, probably just killed them--but it obviously affected her so negatively that she ran away at fifteen to get married and now decades later despises everything about her mother, much like I do mine.

So, I consulted a few people, picked up the phone, and called.  It was awkward timing because Ariel just had her baby and I figure they were waiting on me to ring them up and beg to see it.  Luckily it's impossible to tell anyone in our family apart by voice (of the women that is) so Mom answered and thought I was Ariel. We talked in a cheery upbeat tone for a few moments and then I said it, "I know what happened, before Amanda.   I just wanted to say I'm sorry.  I really am.  I don't know if anyone's ever said it to you...but I'm sorry, Mom."

Her reply, "Well.  I guess everybody has their secrets."

That was the only moment in the conversation where she sounded like she had any emotion whatsoever, so I took advantage of it and told her I loved her.  The worst part of that, was that it was a lie.  I've told stuffed animals I loved them with more conviction.   But I felt the need to say it, because maybe she needed to hear it.  She told me she loved me too.  But I didn't believe it.

The rest of the three minute conversation consisted of her hinting that I was mentally insane and suggesting I get professional help.  I got tired of that real quick and hung up shortly thereafter.  And here's the part where I get to brag.

I have the best friends on the goddamn planet.

I definitely don't deserve them.  At all.  For as big of a bitch as I've been they're always there.
The moment I got off the phone I knew I needed to talk to someone, but the problem was that it was retardedly early in the morning, like 6 or 7 am.  After consulting my contact list and trying to decide who would hate me the least I called Brad, infamous Brad of Lagoon day.  It was a good choice, despite the fact that the phone call literally consisted of me blubbering out a stupid version of the above story while crying like a baby and not letting him get a word in edgewise.  Tell me he's not a good friend for listening to that monstrosity and consoling me afterward.  I DARE YOU.

Then there was Derik.  It was his idea that I call her in the first place.  We both used the excuse that I was going to see Rammstein that night and nothing was going to get me down.  My mother could go donkey kong and kill everyone in the family and it wouldn't matter.  Still, after I blubbered to Brad, Derik took the cue and made me waffles, eggs, and sausage for breakfast.  So I laid on the couch dejectedly all morning with a full stomach thanks to him. It was such a sweet gesture.

During the post-Denver flight and sitting outside in the sun waiting for Rammstein, I texted my super-best friend Madi about the whole situation and we talked about it briefly.  It's amazing that I have a friend I hadn't spoken to in months and then when something went down with my family, she was right there listening and talking about it with me.  It made me feel really thankful to have her in my life, yet again.  And though it was nothing but a text conversation it really helped me get through those otherwise hard hours--no food, no water, no Rammstein, no nothing except sitting around in line and thinking of my mother.

So, to all these amazing people, thank you.  You kick ass.



As far as the situation with my mother goes, I don't expect miracles to happen overnight and I don't expect to feel one way for the rest of my life.  Who knows what I'll think of her in five years or even two.  I have no idea and I try not to stress about it.  Just the fact that I cried and felt compelled to tell my Mom I was sorry for her past, is miles and miles ahead of where I'd usually be (ready to spit on her grave.)  So, perhaps this is the beginning of some closure as to why she's as terrible as she is.  Maybe it's nothing at all.

but the fact that this happened on the same day as Rammstein seems pretty meaningful.

8 comments :

  1. I love reading what you write. Whether I agree with it or not, I completely respect it - and I love that about your writing. You inspire me to come back and read.Thanks for sharing your feelings and being so interesting! I can't wait to come back and read more!

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    1. Thank you so much Brianna!! I know that saying I hate my mother is a pretty controversial thing to post in a world where women admire their mothers, but I just have to be honest and do my best. Like I said in that post, I don't WANT to have that emotion. Trust me, I want it less than I can convey.

      Still, thank you for this comment!! I am glad you appreciate my sometimes stark/blunt honesty ;)

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  3. You've had so much on your plate and you still manage to send me such sweet emails. The honesty on your blog is refreshing Patricia!

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    1. Ack! I'm so sorry I'm just now answering this! It didn't show up as a notification for me. Anyway, thank you dear :) I'm glad you enjoy. And things are looking up and up all the time, so hopefully they continue to do so!

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  4. I totally understand where you're coming from. My mom was an alcoholic and was always putting me and my sister in horrible situations when we happened to have the weekend with her, and I hate her for a lot of things that happened. Her past was super shitty between a physically abusive mother, an uncle molesting her and her mom not believing her when she and her sister told her, getting pregnant at 16...so many things that led her to become an alcoholic. Sometimes I think that just because she grew up in a shitty situation didn't mean she had to be a bad mother because hey, I grew up in a shitty situation and turned out great if I say so myself. But then I think of our differences, like that fact that I have other people in my family that are great and supportive, and that she didn't have any of that. That's when I feel bad and even though I have so much anger towards her, I feel so so so sad and sorry that she had to grow up like that and then waste years of her life (and mine) drinking. Like you, I hate it when I get angry just thinking about her and I don't want to feel that way!

    I'm SO glad you have great friends that are there to support you and that you told your mom you love her, even if you don't. I'm sure she's in a sad place and I truly believe she has no idea how to get out of her ways and you were a much bigger person when you told her and I'm sure that she appreciated it.

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    1. Ugh this was so great for me to read. I know it must've been hard to type. You are seriously one of the most awesome people I know.

      And it's nice to know that someone else knows what it's like to feel hatred and pity for their own mother. It's a really hard thing to go through...sometimes just knowing you're not alone in that is really helpful. I know it is for me. And I'm glad that you have other supportive people in your family! I did...until they died. Still, there are a few cousins and whatnot who are alive who are supportive of me, but we aren't overly close.

      The more I reflect on it the happier I am I told her I loved her too. It might be the last time I ever talk to her, in all honesty. And it sucked being the bigger person--hard to do when you're so full of resentment--but I have a hard time living with myself if I don't do things like that where my family is concerned, because it would be so easy to throw tantrums and be upset and a victim of it.

      Phew. Thank you so much for this comment!!! You rock my socks.

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    2. It's helpful for me to know I'm not alone as well! =D

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