part 73

When I was a teenager I hated being in my house. I would go out as much as possible. I remember distinctly the feeling of walking out the front door and slamming it behind me and flying down the porch steps and across the front yard, and getting into the car of whoever was gallantly waiting to pick me up and take me away from there.

It was a fantastic feeling. It was a mixture of "thank god I'm free" and "go to hell bitches."

One of the worst feelings - well, not the worst, but maybe the most helpless - was when I would hit the wall-of-no-understanding with my mom. That's what it felt like when I was trying to express my outrage at the things my dad did to me or how he treated me or how she made it easier for him and I finally accepted  that she was not going to concede a single centimeter of her stance to at least just acknowledge that I was in pain. That's what the wall-of-no-understanding is, and I always tend to hit pretty hard.

I hated her so much at those times. I have thought about how much hate I felt toward her a lot since my oldest has gotten older. When he was little, I wondered if he would hate me like I hated my mom. I thought it was part of the natural progression of getting through the teen years.

But he doesn't. He is definitely not always happy with me, but it is rare when I see his face show me his utter contempt and disdain for whatever it is I'm not allowing him to do. I remember feeling that way almost constantly with my mom.

I have also been trying to remember when I felt protected by my mom. I know it happened. I know she hugged me and made me feel better sometimes, but I can't remember a single instance of that. Even when she would step in between my dad and I, she would be just as angry with me as she was with him.

It seems as though she felt she would be compromising the integrity of the parental disciplinary team, like any alignment with me would be a stand against my dad and a crack in their wall of solidarity.

I wonder if she ever figured out that the wall of solidarity only existed in her mind. It was a vehicle of manipulation - my dad convinced her (though she may believe she convinced herself) that if there was ever any disagreement while disciplining one of us, it would be a tremendous act of betrayal and detriment to their relationship. Also, it would show weakness to whoever was getting punished.

Divide and conquer. That's what my dad was always trying to convince my mom I was doing - split them up. Apparently she believed him. She stuck by that asshole like he was god and she was Jesus out in the desert getting tempted to stray from her unquestioning faith in him. The person doing the tempting was Satan, of course. That would have been my role in that scenario.

Her devotion to him always kind of baffled me, and I remember feeling how absurd she could be when she would stick by him when he was at his most glaringly worst. He would just do stupid shit as punishments for us and she would back him up every time.

Even the time we had to take our stuff out onto the driveway and smash it up with a sledgehammer.

When I was a little older and was working for my dad (at his manufacturing company, not as a child prostitute), I confided in my mom about work stuff. My dad was hard-core running his business into the ground, and it was very tense around there. I told my mom about my concerns and about how nervous the other employees were.

Later I found out that she told him everything I told her, and he used some of the information against some of the employees. I was stunned - I asked my mom why she would tell him things I only wanted to share with her.

This is what she said: "You know where my loyalties lie."

I can hear her saying that in my head even now as clear as though she was sitting on the other end of the phone saying it the first time.

My mom hasn't tried to contact me in three weeks, ever since our big falling out. I imagine she feels as though she is in some kind of danger, like we would hurt her or "attack" her again. Maybe she is imagining that I have done something to her - something so terrible and hurtful that she is punishing me by removing herself from me.

I don't know. It feels like a slap in the face. I know what a slap in the face from her feels like because she slapped me in the face one time, and this is how it felt.

I don't understand what my expectations of her have been - I know what kind of person she is, and I have had my entire lifetime to establish an impression of her based on her actions. I am incredibly angry at her for her role in what I was subjected to growing up, and the perpetuation of the idea that I am somehow delusional.

It still hurts, though. Pretty bad. Like someone took a melon-baller and scooped little bits of my stomach out over and over until there's only an empty, gruesome cavity left there for my belly.

Her silence for some reason has surprised me. We had spoken so often about how the neighbors reacted when I told what they did to me. She agreed that they were definitely acting like people who had something to hide - like people who are guilty of the things they are being accused of.

And now she's acting that way.

Maybe she can make up with the people living around her and they can get neighborhood legal representation and file a class action suit against me. As much as that would shock me, it wouldn't surprise me at all if that is what actually happened. Seriously.

I feel like I did when I was a teenager. I am angry and hurt and scared and betrayed, and I want to surreptitiously smoke cigarettes and get my tongue pierced and probably a new tattoo, also. I want to fill up the front seat of her car with shaving cream. I'm not sure why I want it to be shaving cream - maybe just because it is age appropriate to my teen angst.

I want to rant about her and call her a fucking bitch to anyone within earshot. I want to drink Boone's Farm Strawberry Hill and lie about staying overnight at a friend's house and go do bad things with boys in the woods and the back seats of cars. I want to skip school and dye my hair purple. I want to scream at her - not necessarily words, but definitely loud, shrieking noise.

But I'm not a teenager anymore. I don't drink alcohol any more (also, Boone's Farm? I'm getting nauseous just thinking about it), and I don't smoke anymore - not cigarettes or anything else. I like going to school. I think it would really hurt in a prolonged manner to get my tongue pierced, and I am tired of prolonged pain.

I could probably still swing a new tattoo, though. I could probably find some people to listen to me rant and call her a fucking bitch, too. I am almost certain Jonny will be up for doing bad things with me - maybe not in the woods or in the back seat of a car - I mean, we have a nice comfy bed to do bad stuff in, and after doing bad stuff in a nice comfy bed for 15 years, the woods and the back seat of the car seem pretty uncomfortable.

Regardless, I am hurt, and no matter how angry I get, there is still a raw pit scooped out of me where the mother I always wanted and needed used to be.

However, I am not stuck in that house anymore. I also am able to choose to be with people who love me and are nice to me. I am also a mom with my own teenager, and I can keep contemplating with wonder how he doesn’t hate me like I hated my mom.

And if all of those things fail to make me feel like me again, I can always watch The Royal Tenenbaums - for some reason, my spirits are lifted and calm by the end of that movie no matter how many times I've already seen it. Wes Anderson is a genius.