It’s been awhile since my last post. This is because: 1) I am
going through some tough shit that I don’t want to disclose here, and 2) I’m so
tired from dealing with all of the aforementioned tough shit that I haven’t had
the energy to write at all.
After getting knocked flat on my ass again a few weeks ago, I
am starting to feel better. Today I wore makeup and flossed my teeth and left
my house and everything. I feel especially good about that today because I saw
my mom yesterday, and the last time I saw her it upended me for much longer
than that.
When I say I “saw” her, what I mean is that I saw her. I didn’t
have any contact with her, and I have no idea if she saw me, too, but just
seeing her out and about in the world is enough to throw me off. It was
different with my dad, because I hadn’t seen or spoken to him in years before I
started remembering things, and I didn’t see or speak to him at any time after
that, and now he’s dead, so…I never had to deal with what he did to me while he
was a hop, skip, and jump away.
With my mom I don’t really have much room to accept and feel
and recover from what she did to me because she’s always there. The reality and
pain of that mom-betrayal-shit is always popping back up in my mind, derailing
the healing process, because I’m still here, and she is, too.
I’ve been imagining some undefined scenario in which I knock
my mom down, punch her face three or four times, then rub her face in the dirt
and walk away. I don’t have anything to say to her, and I don’t want to kill
her like I did with my dad, but I am just so ANGRY, and she is the cause of it.
I literally can’t get away from her. She’s always right down
the goddamn street in that house of twisted, fermented, putrid evil.
Since I can’t get away from her, I’ve been wondering a lot about
what it would be like if she died, if that would make things easier for me
while I’m stuck in this quicksand town. When my dad died, everything was
easier, because I didn’t have to be constantly looking over my shoulder for him
coming to kill me (even though I still catch myself doing it sometimes).
If my mom died, I think I would be relieved, and not
terribly upset, but she was never the bigger threat between my parents. I don’t
remember her ever expressing that she wanted to kill me, and I don’t have any
memories of her actually trying to kill me, so that is a HUGE difference in my
relationship with her (as opposed to my dad).
Another thing is that she is smaller than me, and 25 years
older than me: she doesn’t pose much of a physical threat, if any at all. I mean,
I’m no Xena Warrior Princess, but if it came down to mano a mano between me and
my mom, I feel pretty strongly that I could prevent her from hurting me. Also I
feel pretty strongly that I could hurt her.
I guess the biggest difference between the idea of my dad
dying and the idea of my mom dying is that my mom’s death would serve no
fundamental purpose. I mean, she’s still my mom, for christ’s sake, and as
amusing as it is to imagine it happening, I really don’t want to see her
harmed. I am able to go out in the world without fearing her, I can function, I
can pretty much keep on living my life with her still living and breathing, and
that wasn’t true when my dad was alive.
It does knock me down when I see her, though.
I seriously have no idea what a confrontation with her would
be like. I’m just so mad, and I have nothing to say because she already knows how
disgustingly pathetic and self-serving she is. She already knows what she did
to me. She may be too ashamed to ever admit that she is that kind of person,
but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t know that she is that kind of person.
When I get beyond the fantasizing about punching her, I am
still stuck with her and me, face to face, knowing what she did. It will always
be there between us, and no matter how satisfying it may feel to pummel her
face into the ground, physically harming her would serve no purpose, and it
would not make things any better.
I do wonder, though, if she would be able to meet my eye if
we were ever to come face to face. I always thought that was kind of cheesy,
the “look in my eyes so I know you’re telling the truth” thing. Being able to
look someone in the eyes is not inherently indicative of being forthright with
the truth.
But I cannot imagine her even looking at my face. I’m sure
she could find hundreds of excuses to not have anything to do with me,
explaining away her lack of action by thinking she would never stoop so low as
to face me, or to even acknowledge anything about me.
She could think that I am crazy and vindictive and
manipulative and spiteful, but it still doesn’t change the fact that she knows
full well what she did to me. I wonder if she would admit to it if there was a
total guarantee that no one would ever know, if it was just me and her.
I don’t think she would. I don’t think she could face me,
and I don’t think she will ever be willing to think about what she did and how
tremendously it has hurt me. I don’t think she would ever deign to put herself
in the same category as a perpetrator of harm, the kind of harm she sees every
day in victims of other perpetrators.
She is one hard core, stone cold, and frigid bitch.
Seriously.
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