My Mother

Author: Audacity

So. My mom is back in the hospital again.

And I feel ambivalent about it.

But it wasn’t always like that. I used to have a lot more emotion about my mother.

Because there once was a time when I would have felt active joy at her current suffering.

Why you may ask?

Because being her daughter always felt like I had done something so atrocious in a past life, that now having her as my mother was an active karmic punishment, that’s why.

But of course, that’s just semantics that probably mean nothing to you, dear constant reader.

Because as is typical for me, I’ve probably once again gone too far ahead too fast. Without the proper context or logistics for any of it to make proper cohesive sense to you most likely.

And for that I apologize.

So let me start from a more easily accessible place.

And by the end, you can decide which columns, either plus or minus, each of her egregious actions (or lack thereof) deserve to fall.

Things where once you, dear reader, know about them, they may actually partially help to somewhat explain how I ended up being such a neurotic, sex addicted, paranoid, anti social personality disordered, borderline wanna be serial killer, and ultimate disaster of a human being. But still, NO ONES fucking victim.

And let me be clear, I don’t feel sorry for myself, or think everything I do isn’t my fault but hers. I fully accept responsibility for who I am and what I’ve done and what I currently do.

And of course, I’m fully aware that many, many people have had it much, much worse than I did.

But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t hard being her offspring. Or that probably most of us here have had fucked up childhoods. In one regard or another.

And by the end of unraveling it all, courtesy of my written words in the EUM creative writing neighborhood, you’ll have to make up your own mind about these experiences, just as I did and do.

Deal?

Because I do know one thing for sure: In regards to the significance of nurture v. nature, my mother actually failed at both. But I know that doesn’t mean I HAVE to fail at my own life. Or that my life decisions aren’t my own, and I should just blame my mother for everything.

Because while yes she did do some truly cold and cruel shit to me in my life, it’s actually up to me to decide who I am now and not just who I wanted to be then.

Because I’m not just my parent’s daughter. I’m also my own person. Just as we all are.

And only by taking responsibility of who we are, can we ever become better than who we were.

Ok, so with all of that in mind, here we go…

*I’ll be dropping these true life experiences with my mother in several installments, grouped into the age ranges when they happened. Stay tuned and buckle up, cause it’s gonna be a bumpy fucking ride. One that could lead us anywhere.l*