Hello, Muddah. Hello, Faddah
"Mom"-
I don't think I could ever say to you the things that I feel. You would not understand them, and that would infuriate me. It already has, when casual conversation came to childhood memories, and I implied some trauma you caused, and you just seemed... confused. Above all the other infractions, is there some possible way that you are so seriously fucked up from your crazy life that you actually think you provided me with a good childhood and the necessary building blocks for a successful adulthood? And if so, does that mean I have to forgive you (again) because it's 'not your fault'?
How far does that excuse of your illness go?
This has been one of many questions plaguing me since before I even understood what I diagnosis was. What is wrong with my mother? Why does she behave this way? What are other mothers like? Do they want to behave this way too but find some strength within them to pull their shit together and parent their children properly? Did you even try? Did you have a concept of what the goal of parenthood is? Did you realize that you forgot to tell me I had a future? Did you ever think about what was going to happen to us?
I felt so... disjointed. I feel so. I feel like I'm a paper person held together at the joints by loose brads, so my forearms and lower legs and of course my head just swing wildly around. My body parts are never going in the same direction. I had to spend all my concentration trying to imitate being a person that I didn't have a chance to propel myself forward. To do great things. Imagine. Imagine the difference if at least I had had solid social skills entering high school. Imagine if you'd suggested I read some literature as a child. Imagine if you hadn't just acted like you were the standard.
It was all so weird.
I am angry I was not given structure or security. I am angry I felt embarrassed by things that weren't my fault. I am angry that you accepted whatever was in front of you and never tried to make it better. I am angry that you were never really a parent, that the dynamic of our relationship was messy, that there never was a safe place free of judgments with unconditional love. That we were forced to support you and live in your crazy bubble. That even now I am just waiting for the day you die so I can clean up your mess, that attempts I have made to make life better for you are rejected. How were you ok with that being the life you gave you children? Could you not see it for what it was? How are you ok with your life being so... awful? How were you ok with that for us?
I came to realize a few years ago that I do not regard you as a mother. I do not love you as a mother. You are a person that I pity, that I look down on. You have the strength to wake up every day but not to live each day, and I am angry that you passed that along to me. I respect that I owe you a debt, that at least you were present and there were some happy times, and I will honor that debt. Ashley will get to have a doting grandmother, even if she can't go in your filthy apartment and we only see you for 2 hours at a time. Someday she will experience the terrible, but normal, pain of losing you. Maybe when you actually die I will be filled with other feelings. But now, I mostly want it to be over. I want to stop worrying about your feelings and what I need to do for you.
And I guess I am tired of making my own excuses too, of not really working to work through it all and being healthier. Tired of being a hypocrite, maybe. Or of not living up to my potential. Of not setting the best possible example for Ashley.
I am tired of being your daughter.
I don't think I could ever say to you the things that I feel. You would not understand them, and that would infuriate me. It already has, when casual conversation came to childhood memories, and I implied some trauma you caused, and you just seemed... confused. Above all the other infractions, is there some possible way that you are so seriously fucked up from your crazy life that you actually think you provided me with a good childhood and the necessary building blocks for a successful adulthood? And if so, does that mean I have to forgive you (again) because it's 'not your fault'?
How far does that excuse of your illness go?
This has been one of many questions plaguing me since before I even understood what I diagnosis was. What is wrong with my mother? Why does she behave this way? What are other mothers like? Do they want to behave this way too but find some strength within them to pull their shit together and parent their children properly? Did you even try? Did you have a concept of what the goal of parenthood is? Did you realize that you forgot to tell me I had a future? Did you ever think about what was going to happen to us?
I felt so... disjointed. I feel so. I feel like I'm a paper person held together at the joints by loose brads, so my forearms and lower legs and of course my head just swing wildly around. My body parts are never going in the same direction. I had to spend all my concentration trying to imitate being a person that I didn't have a chance to propel myself forward. To do great things. Imagine. Imagine the difference if at least I had had solid social skills entering high school. Imagine if you'd suggested I read some literature as a child. Imagine if you hadn't just acted like you were the standard.
It was all so weird.
I am angry I was not given structure or security. I am angry I felt embarrassed by things that weren't my fault. I am angry that you accepted whatever was in front of you and never tried to make it better. I am angry that you were never really a parent, that the dynamic of our relationship was messy, that there never was a safe place free of judgments with unconditional love. That we were forced to support you and live in your crazy bubble. That even now I am just waiting for the day you die so I can clean up your mess, that attempts I have made to make life better for you are rejected. How were you ok with that being the life you gave you children? Could you not see it for what it was? How are you ok with your life being so... awful? How were you ok with that for us?
I came to realize a few years ago that I do not regard you as a mother. I do not love you as a mother. You are a person that I pity, that I look down on. You have the strength to wake up every day but not to live each day, and I am angry that you passed that along to me. I respect that I owe you a debt, that at least you were present and there were some happy times, and I will honor that debt. Ashley will get to have a doting grandmother, even if she can't go in your filthy apartment and we only see you for 2 hours at a time. Someday she will experience the terrible, but normal, pain of losing you. Maybe when you actually die I will be filled with other feelings. But now, I mostly want it to be over. I want to stop worrying about your feelings and what I need to do for you.
And I guess I am tired of making my own excuses too, of not really working to work through it all and being healthier. Tired of being a hypocrite, maybe. Or of not living up to my potential. Of not setting the best possible example for Ashley.
I am tired of being your daughter.