Mother Issues

Today I feel like discussing "Mother Issues."

I have them.  And I believe they control me subconsiously and even consiously sometimes.  I find myself mimicking her sounds and gestures that made me cringe as a child.  I hate it.  It really makes me want to puke.

If anyone ever asks me for help, I can not refuse.  Not because my mother was such a loving, caring, giving person, but because that is what I had to do as a child growing up, because she wasn't there.  I mean, sometimes she was there physically, but mentally? emotionally??  Nope, she checked out when I was three years old.  My grandmother would come visit us, feed us, hold our heads when we cried, or bandage up our booboos every great once in awhile.  Our granfather would come and yell at us, threaten us, and sometimes even bribe us to be good for our mother.  I think he did that so she wouldn't call them crying all the time about how she couldn't handle us, handle life.  The saddest part about it all is that if you ask anyone who knew us as children, they will say we were the best behaved kids, always so friendly, helpful, gracious, and giving.  Again, I have to credit this to my mother.  And again I will remind you that it is not because she was in anyways a good mother.

I am suddenly reminded of an event that was pretty damn tramatizing to me as a child.  I must have been six or seven years old at the time.  My mother had a boyfriend.  He was an alcohol, and my mother often locked him out of the house, but that is besides the point in this story.  Anyway, they had alcoholic friends, as most alcoholics do.  So one night, while we were told to go to bed, they had a party.  It was late, I was a smart child, there was a lot of noise going on, I wanted to check it out.  So I snuck down the hall and watched them in the kitchen.  There were 4 people left, 2 besides my mother and her boyfriend.  My mother was sitting on this guys lap, a guy that was not her boyfriend.  His name, as most large men are called, was Tiny.  She was sitting on his lap, crying, repeating over and over "Tiny, take me home.  Please just take me home, Tiny."  He kept telling her that THIS was her home, that she lived HERE.  But she kept telling him no, that this wasn't home, and kept asking him to take her home.  I think her boyfriend was leaning against the fridge laughing.  I don't know if he was hurt by this display, putting on a "good ol' boy" act or whatever, but I sure was.

When I think back on all the horrible things I witnessed as a child, I wonder why I wasn't taken away.  Then I remember that I learned to act at a very young age.  When people asked me how I was, I always put on a huge smile.  I remembered my "please" and "thank you."  I never shouted, or fought with my sisters, I always shared whatever I had with them.  I think they turned out pretty damn good.  I hid a lot of what was going on from them.  I soothed them when they had a bad dream.  I cleaned up the urine when my sister pee'd the bed(until she was like 7 years old).  I took them outside to play when my mother would have a fight with her boyfriend.  I got them their milk and peanutbutter and jelly sanwiches for lunch.  And when I was old enough, I even soothed my mother.  Brought her food, dried her tears.  It was a sad life to live.  I give credit to any child who had to grow up and become a mother way before they should have had to.  I think it is even sadder when the child has to mother the mother.  What a life.  No wonder I have problems to this day.  I still put everyone ahead of me.  I could be like, my car died, my dog has passed away, my cat is minutes away from dying, I have no clean clothes, no money for food, and someone would call me because their lawnmower won't start, and I would walk to their house to help them.

When I was a teenager, I remember not feeling love at all.  All my emotions had dried up.  I couldn't cry.  I couldn't laugh.  But I could still act.  "Yes, I am doing good." *Big smile*  When I felt like all I had in my was huge black emptiness.  Sometimes that huge black emptiness had weight, like a boulder.  But I still stood tall, and proud, and so very unhappy in the inside. 

I know insanity is genetic.  I know some people put off being normal very well, or even get a very low dose of it.  But at 15 years old, and with the huge amount of insanity in my bloodstream, I couldn't keep up my act any longer.

I remember feeling like something wasn't right.  Like the world had slightly tipped or something.  The feeling that everything was a little bit off, but I couldn't put my finger on exactly what it was.  I don't know when it happened, but I remember that is was quite sudden.  Like I woke up fine, and someone during the day flipped a switch somewhere.  I don't recall anyone doing it, or anything that would have "set me off" or anything.  But everything was off, and I was set to get drunk for a solid week.  I did a lot of drugs, and I drank a lot.  And somewhere in there I decided to end my life.  I do not recall a lot of it.  I remember sitting in the cop shop, telling them I would not go back home if HE was there.  "He" being my mother's second husband(after my father).

I was admitted to a psychiatric ward, which dealt with children.  Here I remember going through DTs and meeting a lot of children my age who also wanted to die.  I am trying to remember any feelings I had about being here, and the only thing that I remember clearly is being their best patient.  I tried very hard to "get better," learn ways to cope, and I even helped other teens.  It was a very cozy place, and I wanted to stay there for a very long time.  I took my medications, and really started feeling better about where I was in "the grand sceme of things." 

They sent me home.  They sent me home right back to HIM and HER.  In the time I was there, they never got to the root of my troubles.  I think if they had, thy wouldn't have sent me back.  Maybe that was my fault for not trusting them, or keeping my greatess difficulties to myself as to not burden anyone, but I think it was their fault.  I FEEL that it was their fault.  And that made me lose even more faith in the "adults" and those figures who where supposed to be there to "serve and protect" or "counsel."

So at 15 years old, I was feeling like a very old woman.  I had grown up too fast and was just waiting for death to take me.

And here is where I end it for tonight, because this has gotten WAY longer than I thought it was going to be.  I am sure everyone already gave up on me, if anyone even reads this.  Night.

8:07 AM - Oct. 20, 2005 - post comment

Wow.

I hate it when kids don't get their chance to be kids. I was blessed with a golden childhood, but I found out in my teens it was because my mother was making sacrifices to keep her marriage together, and when it finally fell apart I was 16. I think I understand in my own way what you're talking about when you say putting on an act, for me it was like hiding behind a mask, everything I said or did was from a fake image of myself.

You grew up way too quick, and for better or worse that's what happened. Just because you may be done with the past doesn't mean it's done with you. But it doesn't mean you have to be depressed about it, let your pain make you stronger. You think that wonderful people are wonderful because everything is perfect for them? Wrong.

With nothing more to go on than this weblog, I think you kick ass, insanity and all. There's my two cents, and I mean it too.

Anonymoose - 6:18 PM - Nov. 9, 2005

Grandma

OMG...your background
sounds a lot like mine did!

It really sucked...

but aren't grandmas terrific?! :+)

I love my grandma...
and she is turning 85 this week!
I thank God for her.
I would hate to think where I would be without her...
because she gave me love, and understanding...
something I desparately needed growing up.
She provided some structure, long talks,
good food, trips to Lake Michigan...

She let me be me...
and she was unequivically FOR me...
that is love.

Steve - 11:44 PM - Nov. 9, 2005