(no subject)
I've just recently began to conversate and associate myself with my mother somewhat like I use to. For nearly 6 months I haven't spoken much to my mother. I gave up trying to keep her from repeating her mistakes, cause all I got in return was a shout-full of insults and memories I had purposely laid to rest. I've neever seen how someone, anyone, not just my mother, could make the same life altering mistakes over and over and over and over AND OVER again. But she does it, and I've tried to keep her from doing it, but I've learned that I need to simply keep myself from making her mistakes.
To some I'm viewed as a prude, to some a cave-woman because I haven't done certain things, made certain mistakes others view as rights of passage and adventure, and still to others, something precious. I'm a virgin because of my mother's mistakes. I've never experienced being in a relationship because of my mother's mistakes. I strive to forget and ignore my family because of my mother's mistakes. I strive for stardom and money because of my mother's mistakes. And at times, I've starved for death because of my mother's mistakes. I don't blame everything on my mother, I know how to take the blame for my own misfortunes, my own mistakes, I conciously blame myself for lost chances, broken promises, broken hearts and broken friendships because I've learned from my mother's mistakes. I don't want to be her, or like her. The only things I appreciate that she has given me is stubborness, and when I was little, a right to dream.
I went some places with my mother this past weekend, and indeed had fun, because unlike some other mother daughter relationships, my 'bond', if you will, with my mother is completely impersonal most days.
As usual, my eyes lit up when I heard my mother speak the words I had always faught and craved to hear from her, "I'm proud of you." But too many a time have I had my heart broken upon such a phrase too easily said. It does warm my heart to have my mother proud of me, no matter if she lightly says it as a passing thought never to be remembered why it was said. Yet at the same time, it hurts to know my mother knows so little about me, that she would not know I was the kind of person to listen to an old man speak for nearly an hour of various interesting and un-interesting things. It surprises me that my mother does not know that I am the kind of person to listen to an old man simply to let him know someone was willing to listen and was not to busy to do so. Although my mother was proud of me for those brief moments, I am not proud of her for various reasons, one being that she is the kind of person to turn her head away from an old lonely man when he speaks to her and whisper insulting words across the table as though he were too dumb and deaf to hear them.
I can't quite figure out my mother, I don't think she's all there in her head. She suffers in life, yet I feel no pity for her because in my eyes she deserves her pain for bringing pain and anger to so many other's. I want to give up on her, yet there's always the slightest hope within me that one day she'll wake up and stop living so comfortably in her belief that as long as she prays to her god and asks HIM for forgiveness, that she may go to heaven. I don't believe in that, I don't believe in her god or her heaven, and I most certainly do not believe that requesting forgiveness from something that seems so imaginary will right the wronging and lacking of apolgy to the people she has wronged and hurt.
I'm too tired to think anylonger at this point so I'll simply end here with 'Goodnight'.