But she's your mother!

I've heard this a lot lately. Every time I hear it, there is a pang of guilt that hits me like a ton of bricks. She is my mother. She tried to be a mom sometimes, but mostly she was my mother. She gave me life and most of the time, I'm grateful for that. But she's also someone who has caused me so much pain that I've genuinely wondered if suicide is the only way to make her happy. I have done everything I can to make her happy. I've made myself smaller. I would speak when spoken to. I was honest, unless I was terrified. I made myself smaller and I tried to be what she wanted, even, no, especially if it meant not being me. When I got frustrated or tired of the charade, I snapped at her or got argumentative. I got great grades in school. I worked my ass off - all of it trying to make her proud or happy, but something was always wrong. I was subtly compared to my siblings unfavorably. I was blamed for things I couldn't have done. I was thrown under the bus and no one stopped it.

I smile wistfully at these people because their moms probably made time for them. They were proud and made sure you knew it - not just because you made them look good, but because you had done so many wonderful and unique things that made you who you are. You had support and someone to cry to if things got really bad. I didn't have that. I collected surrogate parents. I relied on friends who weren't capable of parenting me because they were just kids themselves. I get jealous sometimes, but I recognize that that is about me and that I am genuinely happy for people who didn't have to go through what I did. It doesn't mean I don't go to sleep at night asking, 'why me?'.

It's been a month since I last saw my mother and had the worst fight I've had in 9 years. On the 4th, it will be a month since I told her I couldn't be a part of her life anymore and that I didn't want her in mine. She tried calling me this week and, because I blocked her number, left a voicemail. I didn't listen to it. I made Sara listen to it for me and she said my mother sounded like nothing had happened. I want to email her and ask her what part of my email did she not understand. I can't though. I have established boundaries and if I break them, even to reestablish them, it shows her that they are weak.

I've been considering getting a phoenix tattoo to remind me of what I am. I am rising from the ashes and while the current version of me isn't pretty and is a complete mess, if the legend is correct, I will emerge from this more beautiful than before. I think a reminder would be nice right now because I keep forgetting that this is just the messy stage.

Yes. She is my mother and because of that I thank her for creating me and for carrying me, but I do not thank her for a childhood of being her scapegoat, of her ignoring abuse, and feeling inadequate. I have had to create my own family. It is small and it is a patchwork quilt of people, but at least they give me the love and support I need without demanding restitution for the inconvenience. They let me love them in return too and that's the part I like best. I get to walk away without guilt. I get to emerge from the destruction and ashes of my life up until this point and I get to try again.

Sometimes, life is a fucking bitch

I keep trying to talk myself out of this.... separation with my mother. I know it's important and for the best, but I keep realizing that there are moments I'm going to miss out on and things I will never see again. I will still be able to see my grandma, but someday, when she dies, I won't be able to go to her funeral. If either of my brothers marry or have more children, I won't be there. Family reunions, not that I've been to any in recent history, are off limits too.

I remind myself that my immediate family wasn't really interested in me and that the love I have felt and extended, far exceeds anything I've received in return. How the hell does that work? I was asked today, why do [I] think that no one likes [me]. For the first time, I found a reasonable response. My family, the people who are supposed to love me regardless of anything (they don't have to like what I do or say, but they should at least love me), has never even liked me, so why should anyone else? I've been told, through actions, implications, and sometimes direct words, that I am an inconvenience, unimportant and unloveable ever since I was small. I've stated before that I believe I was conceived in an effort to repair my parents' floundering relationship and when that didn't work, I was given the blame. It's part of why I'm scared to have another child. I want one with every ounce of my body, but I don't know if it's a practical decision. I want it to be, but I don't want to risk becoming my mother. I know I have the ability to control that and perhaps this is the easiest and best way to do it.

I know this has been rather haphazard. Unfortunately, it's where my brain is now. It's like tipping over a bookshelf or a toy box. I'm trying to find order and reason in chaos and it's not working. *sigh*

In which I admit all and walk away from my mother

I got married last month. It's not legally binding because my state wouldn't recognize it anyways. It was beautiful and I could not have asked for a better day for it. I was beautiful. Sara was beautiful and we and Liam cried tears of happiness and excitement. It was awesome. I thought this would make a lovely preface for what is likely to be a rather upsetting post.

I was an abused and neglected child. I didn't even realize it until this past September, when someone pointed out to me that my mother is a narcissist. Outwardly, our family is wonderful. My mother is a triumphant single mother who raised three children on her own. We make a point not to share the family secrets and to hide the cracks in the veneer. But things were not as great as we put on.

I was a happy child, but somewhere along the road that changed. I became depressed. I felt like I was worthless, fat, ugly and horrible and that was before I hit puberty. Looking back, my mother put a lot of pressure on me to look a certain way. She used to tell me she used to be fat too. I later found out that at her heaviest she was around 135 lbs. At my lightest, I was 145 lbs. So, there's that. I wanted to please her, so I joined her on her one meal a day diet. I immediately went to my room afterwards and exercised it off through sit ups, leg lifts, planking, push ups and anything else I could imagine to get those calories off of my fat ass. When I went away to college, it took me three months to start managing another meal without feeling guilty.

When I entered adolescence, my, now diagnosed, mental illness started to make life unbearable. I became enormously depressed and, because my mother was never around, I relied on my friends to help me through. My mother first got a job that required a great deal of travel, so she got an old co-worker to check on my brother and me once a day. Then after my grandpa died she moved up to her new job and left us behind during the week. It was nice of her to let me finish out the school year, but I still felt abandoned. I grew up a lot during those months and when I moved back in with her, there was a lot of fighting because I wasn't willing to give up my freedom. Eventually, I just gave in because I didn't want to fight anymore. I asked her once to go see a therapist to deal with the crippling depression and was told "You don't need therapy. What can you tell a therapist that you can't tell me? If anyone in this house needs therapy, it's your brother". In middle school, when she got called into the guidance office because the counselor was worried I was suicidal, my mother was outwardly concerned. When we got home she angrily asked "So, do I have to put you on suicide watch now?" There are days I wish I had gone through with it. I was always an inconvenience. Later, when I became an adult I was hospitalized twice for suicidal behavior. The first time she was upset because she felt Liam was being hurt by it. The second time, it was at an inconvenient time for her. *sigh*

I wish I could say it was always bad because it would make everything easier to take, but there were genuinely good moments. When I first got my period, she was kind, understanding and caring. She took me out of school for a grown up girls day and we shopped and had lunch and it was fun. She took me to my first opera and occasionally we would go see plays together. But these were moments. Everyday life was unbearable and for years I have felt guilty for hating her and have been trying to fix the situation. I wanted a real mom who was proud of me for my accomplishments instead of trying to make them about her.

My wedding was the last straw though. The ceremony was fine. She behaved very well, but once pictures started, it became about her. A friend offered to take professional pictures and they turned out beautifully. I asked my mother to help with pictures so we could get some candids that were fun. *sigh* She pouted and got angry and as soon as she could get me alone, she told me how "that girl" had shoved her out of taking photos. I didn't want to fight and I sure as hell wasn't going to tell my friend to stop taking photos. I avoided two more arguments that evening. The next day, she picked the worst fight we've had ever. The last time we had a fight that even came even somewhat close was in 2005, but this one left them all behind. I would post all the gory details, but they aren't important. I said things I'd been wanting to say and she denied everything before screaming false apologies at me. I began sobbing and apologizing for everything I could think of. For being born, for not being a boy, for not being good enough, etc. I hadn't planned on getting into it with her. I'd been avoiding this argument for months and she finally got the fight she was looking for. We went on our honeymoon after taking a little time to regroup and after Liam was picked up when it was over, I let her know that I was done. I have walked away from my mother and while I'm working through the guilt of that, I want to know what it feels like to like myself. *sigh*

I get how bad this sounds and I get that it's bad to walk away from both of your parents. But remember, not all parents are nice and not all parents are supportive. I was the scapegoat and watched my golden child brothers have a fantastic childhood in comparison to mine.