Tomorrow is Mother’s Day and I don’t want anything to do with her. She is a sociopathic manipulative narcissist without an ounce of empathy in her soul. She is not human. To be alive is to be warm, with life blood pumping through your veins. But she is not warm. She is colder than ice; she is poison. The only antivenom for her wounds is abandonment. Banishment. Starvation.
Oh that’s shocking, you could say. But it’s really not. I’m so tired of secrets. I’m so tired of the guilt and shame and confusion of what love is and what love isn’t. Love isn’t berating your daughter over not taking her car to the shop to change the winter tires to all seasons when she called because she was feeling heavy and devastated after visiting with a sick friend. Love isn’t throwing a temper tantrum and crying and slamming dishes because your daughter set a boundary because she was tired of being screamed at.
She has a disease, right? That’s what we say about people who do everything in their power to undercut, sabotage and invalidate their own flesh and blood. Motherly instincts don’t apply here. She must be diseased. But don’t tell her that because she will ram her claws into you and try to tear through your flesh and rip out your heart before you even hit the floor. She is perfect, she is never the problem; it is always everybody else. She is the cruelest person I know.
I won’t keep her abuse a secret anymore. I’ve told my friends, my mentors, my counselors. I’ve been trained will as a child to keep it all inside and let it rot. It doesn’t matter how much it hurts on the inside, as long as everything looks perfect on the outside. But I don’t have any loyalty left. And sure the fear of repercussion is still there, but the fear of abandonment is getting less and less and even turning the tables because I’m just at the point where there’s not much left in me that cares. If a family member asks, I will tell the truth. I will not sugar coat it. I will not pretend everything is ok. I will not go along with the game that we have a good relationship and are on good terms when we are in public just to keep up some bullshit image that is more important to my mother than a relationship with her daughter. I’m not going to protect her image, that’s not my job. I’m going to protect myself instead.
So yes, it may sound dramatic to title this post Mother’s Day is Bullshit, but I’m not going to be making some obligatory phone call tomorrow to gush to my mother how wonderful of a parent she is, because she isn’t. She’s caused a level of heartache and damage that I sometimes fear is beyond repair. Mother’s Day is bullshit to those who don’t have mothers at all or those like me who have horribly abusive ones that don’t know what love is, and it rubs it in our faces that we will never have that special relationship or that special bond. So what am I to do instead? Find a woman from my community who has been more nurturing than my own mother and honour her? Maybe. But honestly I’d rather just tuck away and ignore this “holiday” and choose not to acknowledge it’s existence. Or I could honour myself as a cat mom.
Oh look at that, it’s actually 12:02am already…huh. So in closing I will bid you a Happy Run-Of-The-Mill Sunday.
My Life Bipolar 