Distorria

softly, don't go so...


Previous Entry Share Next Entry
Mothers day
distorria

I wish I could about how excited I am to celebrate mothers day, but I can't. All the gift buying, all the love, all the appreciation and support, but I can't. I watch the commercials for flowers, candy, ect.
I wish I could go to my moms house and give her pretty things. To watch her face light up. To know she loves me and is happy to see me. To have a day to spend with family that doesn't leave me in tears, but of course I can't.

My mom fucking hates me. I was born because she was too lazy to get an abortion. I was born so she could keep her boyfriend with her. The one that she fought with nonstop. The one who beat her to the floor on many endless horrible days.

If you asked her, she would tell you of her endless love for me. She loved doing that, telling everyone that would listen how much she cared. She wasn't too big on actually doing anything to show it. I spent my childhood sick and alone. I lived in tiny apartments and was told constantly to be silent. That I didn't matter. What wanted didn't matter. That my life was worthless and useless. I was shaken and smacked. Isolated and neglected and abused.

She's called me a liar for pointing out anything bad that happened in my life. She would never do those things. I think sometimes she honestly doesn't remember. The drugs did fuck her up pretty bad. I think more often she chooses not to. What kind of monster puts their hands over a coughing sick childs face? What kind of asshole shakes them and screams at them to shut up and just die?

She chooses not to see me, which is probably best for both of us. I've seen her a handful times in the past five years. The last time was a miserable Xmas where she told me she's going to kill herself if her boyfriend dies. I had seen her in three years and I had to hear this shit. She had no interest in hearing about my life. She doesn't actually believe I run a makeup company. I'm too fucked up for that.

Nothing really soothes this kind of hurt. Time makes a bit of a difference. I'm not the complete waste of flesh I was when I moved out. I was utterly broken and I had to put myself together. I've learned to take care of myself. To value myself. But memories haunted me and still do.


So no, I'm not celebrating mothers day.


?

Log in