We Are the Sum of Our Parents' Dreams
I have a life full of questions.
My Mom was addled from the time I was born--when she was going through her most schizo period prior to her dying in 2000, she “lost” the previous twenty years and kept talking about things as if it were 1980. For whatever reason, she candidly confessed that the doctors had tried to put her on medication “...right after (I) was born...” and she had steadfastly refused. She was bipolar, but I don’t know if it was triggered by the pregnancy/my birth, or something earlier on.
Mom had experienced some MAJOR tragedy when she was in her teens. I have no idea what happened, I have no idea who was involved...but she was discovered walking in a daze in a small down in Southern Indiana called Bargersville, not knowing who she was or where she belonged. Karl and Bess Nuffer took her in and until I was about 14 or 15, I thought they were my grandparents. They were not. My Mom’s family were the Carlyles, of whom I know NOTHING other than her bedraggled birth certificate that we found after she died.
Mom tried to give me some intimation about this when I was 13, trying to connect with me. I was beginning to pull away from her by then, because her erratic behaviour was such that every kindness or loving action on her part was inevitably followed by an attack of physical abuse and such horrendous screaming that the idea of a banshee could be no worse. It was traumatising for me, so I thought it was better to keep Mom at arm’s length so that her fondness would not twist into unreasoning attack. It mostly worked, although my sister Teresa’s and my lives were frequently punctuated with batshite craziness where Mom would blame us for some perceived fault or sin and would attempt to punish us…even if we had done nothing. I still laugh about the phonecall I got at work where the woman was shrilly screaming about how I supposedly had all my friends calling her at home, telling her to ‘fuck off’. Not only had I not done this, but I would never have bothered and neither would my friends.
I was not able to tell her about how I loved her, because to her, any expression of love had to be stomped out quickly, with extreme prejudice. In fact, the one time I DID tell her how I loved her--when I was 13--she punished me to within an inch of my life. Seriously.
I had to be the sole caregiver when my Mom was dying of cancer for nine months because she would not allow Teresa near her. Evidently she was fully convinced that my brother-in-law was really O.J. Simpson and he and Teresa were going to murder their children.
Uh-huh. That was “normal” for Mom. Several other “facts” that were both tiring and amusing were:
1) She thought that both Michael Jackson and Elizabeth Taylor purposely lived their lives and did everything they could just to piss her off.
2) Demi Moore--former wife of Bruce Willis and former BratPacker--was personally stalking her. (My friends had a field day when Ms. Moore attended the opening of the local Planet Hollywood. “Does your Mom know Demi’s in town?”)
3) Mom once gave me a card of “...a girl just like (me)...” because it reminded her of me. The girl had long blonde hair to her waist, she was wearing a gingham-checked dress that went to the ground, she was barefoot, and surrounded by bunnies and chicks. Mom handed me this card as I stood there in my leathers and studs, my bright-red hair and my gothy makeup. I was NEVER that girl, but Mom ALWAYS saw me like that.
In some ways I am grateful for all this. I am the strong person I am and was able to parent my Mom at times because of this nonsense. I have LIVED in Wonderland.
However, Mom was also a brilliant woman. Her I.Q. was never tested, but she was extremely smart and very clever--I have an I.Q. of 171 and I thought she was smarter than I was. This didn’t stop her from believing in every single thing those trash rags like THE ENQUIRER and papers of that ilk wrote, of course. Despite the insanity, she had extremely lucid moments.
When I was 10 she started buying me books like THE SATANIC BIBLE by Anton Szandor LeVey, MASTERING WITCHCRAFT by Paul Huson, and books on yoga, meditation, etc. During this period--1966--it was not easy to FIND books like that. The publishing world was on the brink of allowing occult books to come out into the open and the Witchcraft Laws were being retired. I kind of skipped both Satanism and Witchcraft and went straight to Aleister Crowley and Thelemic Hermetics. By age 11 I was pretty adept and getting involved further afield than just home.
But now I’m left with some haunting things.
I will never know why she grabbed me one day when I was about 25 and wept, “...But you’re the SPECIAL one! You were ALWAYS the SPECIAL one!” I just wanted to get away from her.
I never told her about the dreams or the visions, or how I could make objects disappear or move.
I never told her about my gallery art shows or showed her my paintings. I never told her I was a professional artist.
I never told her about all the magickal things I experienced, or to what level I reached.
Back when I was shooting bands and writing all those articles, she gave me one of The Looks and said: “You know, you should write books. I read these books by Agatha Christie and others, and yet I know you could write so much better than any of them.” I poo-poohed this idea immediately.
She never lived to see me write the trilogy.
Yet I am extremely impressed that ALL these things came from her, through me.
I realise this sounds a bit sad, but it’s not. I’m really grateful this woman gave me all this.
I don’t know what to do with the questions I have left. Most people know their relatives or family histories, as well as stories about their parents, etc. I do not.
Until my dying day, I will wonder how or what made me the “...SPECIAL one...”, or in contrast with what. My sister? People around me? What? How? It seemed to be very, very important to her.
For the first time in my life, I think I’m strong enough and centered enough that I can ask the questions and do the probing into my life from this aspect that was always too painful to do before.
Today at lunch, I felt Mom all around me. I felt HER LOVE all around me.
Nechtan
My Mom was addled from the time I was born--when she was going through her most schizo period prior to her dying in 2000, she “lost” the previous twenty years and kept talking about things as if it were 1980. For whatever reason, she candidly confessed that the doctors had tried to put her on medication “...right after (I) was born...” and she had steadfastly refused. She was bipolar, but I don’t know if it was triggered by the pregnancy/my birth, or something earlier on.
Mom had experienced some MAJOR tragedy when she was in her teens. I have no idea what happened, I have no idea who was involved...but she was discovered walking in a daze in a small down in Southern Indiana called Bargersville, not knowing who she was or where she belonged. Karl and Bess Nuffer took her in and until I was about 14 or 15, I thought they were my grandparents. They were not. My Mom’s family were the Carlyles, of whom I know NOTHING other than her bedraggled birth certificate that we found after she died.
Mom tried to give me some intimation about this when I was 13, trying to connect with me. I was beginning to pull away from her by then, because her erratic behaviour was such that every kindness or loving action on her part was inevitably followed by an attack of physical abuse and such horrendous screaming that the idea of a banshee could be no worse. It was traumatising for me, so I thought it was better to keep Mom at arm’s length so that her fondness would not twist into unreasoning attack. It mostly worked, although my sister Teresa’s and my lives were frequently punctuated with batshite craziness where Mom would blame us for some perceived fault or sin and would attempt to punish us…even if we had done nothing. I still laugh about the phonecall I got at work where the woman was shrilly screaming about how I supposedly had all my friends calling her at home, telling her to ‘fuck off’. Not only had I not done this, but I would never have bothered and neither would my friends.
I was not able to tell her about how I loved her, because to her, any expression of love had to be stomped out quickly, with extreme prejudice. In fact, the one time I DID tell her how I loved her--when I was 13--she punished me to within an inch of my life. Seriously.
I had to be the sole caregiver when my Mom was dying of cancer for nine months because she would not allow Teresa near her. Evidently she was fully convinced that my brother-in-law was really O.J. Simpson and he and Teresa were going to murder their children.
Uh-huh. That was “normal” for Mom. Several other “facts” that were both tiring and amusing were:
1) She thought that both Michael Jackson and Elizabeth Taylor purposely lived their lives and did everything they could just to piss her off.
2) Demi Moore--former wife of Bruce Willis and former BratPacker--was personally stalking her. (My friends had a field day when Ms. Moore attended the opening of the local Planet Hollywood. “Does your Mom know Demi’s in town?”)
3) Mom once gave me a card of “...a girl just like (me)...” because it reminded her of me. The girl had long blonde hair to her waist, she was wearing a gingham-checked dress that went to the ground, she was barefoot, and surrounded by bunnies and chicks. Mom handed me this card as I stood there in my leathers and studs, my bright-red hair and my gothy makeup. I was NEVER that girl, but Mom ALWAYS saw me like that.
In some ways I am grateful for all this. I am the strong person I am and was able to parent my Mom at times because of this nonsense. I have LIVED in Wonderland.
However, Mom was also a brilliant woman. Her I.Q. was never tested, but she was extremely smart and very clever--I have an I.Q. of 171 and I thought she was smarter than I was. This didn’t stop her from believing in every single thing those trash rags like THE ENQUIRER and papers of that ilk wrote, of course. Despite the insanity, she had extremely lucid moments.
When I was 10 she started buying me books like THE SATANIC BIBLE by Anton Szandor LeVey, MASTERING WITCHCRAFT by Paul Huson, and books on yoga, meditation, etc. During this period--1966--it was not easy to FIND books like that. The publishing world was on the brink of allowing occult books to come out into the open and the Witchcraft Laws were being retired. I kind of skipped both Satanism and Witchcraft and went straight to Aleister Crowley and Thelemic Hermetics. By age 11 I was pretty adept and getting involved further afield than just home.
But now I’m left with some haunting things.
I will never know why she grabbed me one day when I was about 25 and wept, “...But you’re the SPECIAL one! You were ALWAYS the SPECIAL one!” I just wanted to get away from her.
I never told her about the dreams or the visions, or how I could make objects disappear or move.
I never told her about my gallery art shows or showed her my paintings. I never told her I was a professional artist.
I never told her about all the magickal things I experienced, or to what level I reached.
Back when I was shooting bands and writing all those articles, she gave me one of The Looks and said: “You know, you should write books. I read these books by Agatha Christie and others, and yet I know you could write so much better than any of them.” I poo-poohed this idea immediately.
She never lived to see me write the trilogy.
Yet I am extremely impressed that ALL these things came from her, through me.
I realise this sounds a bit sad, but it’s not. I’m really grateful this woman gave me all this.
I don’t know what to do with the questions I have left. Most people know their relatives or family histories, as well as stories about their parents, etc. I do not.
Until my dying day, I will wonder how or what made me the “...SPECIAL one...”, or in contrast with what. My sister? People around me? What? How? It seemed to be very, very important to her.
For the first time in my life, I think I’m strong enough and centered enough that I can ask the questions and do the probing into my life from this aspect that was always too painful to do before.
Today at lunch, I felt Mom all around me. I felt HER LOVE all around me.
Nechtan