Let me tell you; this is not about bicycling or the gym. I am a manic depressive who ‘rapid cycles.’ I feel sorry for my family because at times I cannot phantom being around me. Who wants to live with a mother who one day is baking cookies and the next is a zombie on the couch lost in thought? What I do know is; time is drawing near where I will have to seek pharmaceuticals again because sometimes I just can’t shake the anxiety or isolationism of my disorder.
Funny………. I worked hard on myself to be what I was expected to be as a child. Yet, my rapid racing mind along with my machine gun tongue just cut my mother to the core; then in she would strike out to get my submission. Who could blame me, her, or the situation; she hated being a parent.
She tore us from our family; went to California to get away from the stigma of being divorced. Men came and went; little miss perfect developed her own coping mechanisms and eventually caught their eye which was terrifying when a young person just wants to disappear. (More later)
I just wanted to be normal but, who can define that? Today, I can’t tell you what that illusion is. I do know, I have a rigid moral code. What I find is right; feels like a steel knife I walk on – my steps cannot waiver because I will slip upon its edge and die.
Not once, have I gotten an apology since, in her mind she was doing what she needed to do to raise us into proper adults. Who is a proper adult here? Neither my sister nor I; hang with her. As a matter of fact, I have only been in her home less than five times in 25 years. My children don’t know her name but, have met her.
I don’t want my truth mixed up with their childhood. I have learned how to compartmentalize so well; she taught me – sometimes I am numb to pain until I appear cruel. Yes, I am still angry I don’t know why but, I am. Most of the time I feel stupid as I don’t understand her nature; while she holds some blame – not all because I lived passed her. Is this nature or nuture?
Now you are probably wondering why I am writing this post. Will I delete it tomorrow due to its sensitive nature? I don’t think so, because once upon a time; I wrote poetry now, I write to purge myself of the guilt of being me.
Am I still just a wounded child.............
5 comments:
Hugs for you my Sistah. I can feel the sharpness of your pain.
Mal,
No, you should not delete this... others can relate, trust me. If not a mother, then a father, or a husband, or even a child... we are, a great many of us, "wounded" and dealing with it the best way we know how. Your being an awesome mother and wife despite your wounds (or perhaps BECAUSE of them) is testament that we can rise above that damage and still make something GOOD!
Keep on writing.
Babies do not come with instructions and neither do parents. I would have loved to have a close bond with my mother, like my sister had, but it never happened.
My daughter claims I was the worst mother in the world and she wrote me once, that she couldn't wait till I was put in the ground. I don't see why she thinks this, but I am not on the other side of her brain. Everybody sees things differently. I thought I raised them all the same.
You are a wonderful person and a bit to hard on yourself. I am hoping you find some peace in your heart. Know that your children love you unconditionally and just tell them when your having a not so good day and you will find they will work with you. None of us are perfect and we all have character defects that need some work. Teaching your children that all people have bad days allows them to understand humans better. Of course getting older can do the same thing to us, meaning one day we seem to have the energy of a twenty year old and the nest we must rest our souls. We Love you Mal and don't be so hard on yourself.
I can relate to much that you've spoken of. How brave of you to share with us and I thank you for this.
Much love out to you chicken Mama..you are a kind, wonderful woman...<3
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