Note: This was written last week, actually as more of an exercise in catharsis than anything else. Beefcake, however, has encouraged me that I should post it, I guess to send it out there and free myself from it. I don’t know if I’ll feel comfortable leaving it up. We’ll see how we go.
Ugh. My house is a pit. A filthy, filthy pit. I’ve had mastitis, I’ve now got a cold so I’ve really been running on half speed all week and it just doesn’t cut it. It’s annoying and I’m quite the anal retentive domestic freak at times so it probably bugs me more than it would a lot of people. So, I had placed grub on the floor for a play, so I could quickly race around and try and make the house habitable, when she called. To be fair, this is the fourth time in as many days she has called to check on me. The first three times either Beefcake or Poss fielded the call and told her I was napping or in the shower or whatever.
Today I answered the phone.
I really have no reason not to talk to her. Except…. I find myself feeling resentful. It’s not a nice emotion. It feels like something uncomfortable under my skin. It sits there and I feel it, but it doesn’t diminish. In fact, I feel it grow and maybe it’s growing into anger. Real fiery anger. Anger I could never, would never, express to her. She hasn’t done anything wrong really. She just stays with him. She stays and she puts up with the crap. I have opted out but she stays. I have put my health and my sanity and my sense of peace ahead of my “obligation”. She only sees her obligation. She only sees his needs. She doesn’t care to remember what we’ve all had to put up with. What we’ve all had to go through. She doesn’t see the hand that she has in it all. She could have spared us. She should have spared us.
So now, now that I finally have the strength to stand apart and say “no, I won’t do this any more” I feel angry. I feel angry that she doesn’t acknowledge all that we’ve had to endure. I feel angry that she has the nerve to try to whine about having to bear the burden. I resent that after it all, after she had left and promised not to go back, she is there and I know now that she will stay no matter what he does. She has no limit. I want to exclude her from my life too but I can’t for fear that it would break her. But she knows. She must know that my monosyllabic, barely civil conversation is strained almost to breaking. She must know that it breaks my heart.
So I will slowly drift away from my mother. She chooses my father. He is a drunk, he is abusive, he is mentally ill. Our lives have been dominated by his needs for decades. I have opted out. She has opted in. And so we go our separate ways, but we don’t speak openly of it. We go our separate ways.
I feel I have no mother, but she will continue to call and come and sit in my house and we will chat and it will all remain unsaid.
Because I have nothing to give any more.