the_story_of_my_mom kinkazoid eh chem... ok see i always loved my mom and respected her cuz i was her youngest and most of the time got my way. yet when i got older, thats when i heard the news, i heard what she was up to and it made me hate her.... it all started on a warm summer day when i was at my oldest sisters house. we were sitting down for a cup of coffee, when i started asking questions about my dad...this actually needs a little explaning.. see when i was 3 my dad shot himself dead, and thats all my mom ever told me about it, i was too little to remember anything so i decided to ask my sister since she was like 13 and remembers lots... i asked her what was going on that day or week or whenever..she told me that him and my mom had started fighting about money problems and stuff, (she also explained that they were big potheads and thats where all our money went..see why_do_i_remember ) one night he left cuz he didnt want to go through the fighting, he called from a payphone about 3 hours after he left. my sister answered the phone and my mom wouldnt talk to him..., i can just picture her watching t.v. and biting her nails or something.. he was trying to make things better, and talk about the problems..she said she didnt care, said a bunch of other mean stuff i cant remember and then told him to go to hell. bitch. he was found the a couple days later in the woods with his head shot off. she doesnt care. if i were her i would have killed myself too cuz it was pretty much her fault. damn her!! 010714 ... scarlett my mother is a passive-aggresive, codependent. I am her joy. I am her pain. I am the one she holds all hope in. THe genius and strength of our family. SHe will always say I love you. But she does not really mean it. She kicked me out when I was 15 to live with my father because I have bipolar and I was abusing drugs. She was willing to let me end up in a foster home rather than confront the issue that I am not perfect. I did not talk to her for a long time. Now I do but I still hate her. I tell her I love her and feel this terrible wrench in my stomach. The twinge of a lie. She would see the cuts on my arms and turn away. She would see me vomiting all the time from bulimia and overdosing on prescription drugs and pretend it was not there. She lives on the opposite side of America from me now and I still wish I could get further away. I am her child and she is a bitch. She takes all the credit for my recovery into normal life when I had to fight it all on my own. No one held out a helping hand. I think of how many times I neared death and I want to scream. You stupid bitch. You did this. You would not hear my silent cries. I was incapable of asking and you were self-absorbed with your husbands and fiances and boyfriends. You slut. I will not become my mother's daughter. I will be what you can only dream. That is the story of my mom. 020109 ... bijou mother remember that blink of an eye when i breathed through your body iron_and_wine 041014 ... gja sons are like birds flying upward over the mountain 121005 ... warmthofrelease she doesn't care for herself. five years ago she slipped into a diabetic coma. she thought the problem would go away. it_almost_happened_again about 2 months ago. last summer when she was vomiting for 4 days straight the problem eventually just fixed_itself. she got better again. she thought it would just fix itself again. at least this most recent time she actually took herself to the hospital instead of being discovered like she was 5 years ago. she'll be paying for that ambulance ride for years to come. love this country. I wish I could forget seeing her in that half lucid state. she did recognize me though. my brother and I can't afford full-time help, hospice care, anything like that. hopefully we can kick_that_can_down_the_road a few more years. but if she would just allow herself to have a friend who could check on her every now and then it would go a long way. the ferocity of her privacy has been handed down to me. she's accustomed to isolation. I hope I can be better than her. I mean better to myself. yeah. that's what I meant. when I was an infant I had a condition: pyloric_stenosis. happens to about 1 in every 500,000. food couldn't pass through my pyloric valve. I vomited everything I tried to consume gaining basically no nutrition in the process. in the first month of my life I lost weight. I was starving to death. she kept saying it was fine. I was just a quiet baby. she didn't understand what could be wrong. it's all fine. if something doesn't make sense in her mind then it doesn't make sense at all. you really can't tell her anything. you sure as hell can't convince her to ask for help. it's fine. someone did though. I was taken to the hospital at about 6 weeks old, had the operation, still have the scar, was able to eat food and I've hardly looked back since. what did those days do to me? as an infant, starving, squirming, well before I'd developed any sense of cognition. are those the deepest layers of my psychosis? is this what makes me tough enough to have cheated death as many times as I have? is this why I've always felt so alone? or was it her? it's not that she don't_care it's that she don't_know_how we'll both let go. sooner or later. we'll learn without changing. we'll change without learning. she'll never say she was wrong. not for anything she's done to herself or to anyone else. not for inaction. not for negligence. not for telling me in a card on my 14th birthday that she was leaving the country and not coming back. and not for turning the car around and coming back. she'll be fine. I'm fine. 240130 what's it to you? who go blather from