Two Years Later and a Lot of Water

The words today are not what I imagined I would ever write, or would ever come out of my mouth. I wanted to rage, to be bitter, and to be angry. I wanted my mom to suffer, as she had made me suffer. I wanted her to hurt, much more than she hurt me. I wanted her to feel everything she inflicted on me by at least a magnitude of 10. Well, in my journey to discover, to heal, to live what days I have left, just being okay with me, I discovered my mom. I see her with different eyes and a different heart. I think God softened my hard and cruel heart. I could not have done that on my own. I love my mom. I don't love what she did. But I love who God intended her to be. That was my mom. This may turn out to be the reason she existed. To let people know that you can heal, and forgive. That you will live again. I still have bad days when I am so out of control, and then others where  I experience great peace. I lived long enough to experience that. Praise God.

I could have been nicer mom, More gentle and softer. I could have given you a soft place to fall. So many things I could have done, but didn't. I wanted to be nicer than you could ever imagine, but I don't think you could picture those things. You could only imagine the past and what it should have looked like. I looked at the past and got more angry with you. Both of us hurting by looking backward and not seeing today.

I should have been nicer than I was too. I mean, I was nicer than I wanted to be most of the time, but most of the time wasn't nice enough. Even when I was nice, I should have been nicer. I was always guarded and ready to fight and defend. Ready for what might be launched from your mind next. I was never ready though. You always got me. Yet, by not being nicer, I see where I added to your imaginings and longings for what life should have been. I didn't fit into that picture when I was angry at you. I see that now. Your visions and dreams of life and mine were the same mom. It looked the same and it wasn't the way it was supposed to be. I understand that.

Gentler. Yes, I do wish I had been gentler. Perhaps to awaken the sense of being mothered and loved within you. I was harsh and spoke with words of steel at times. Words that shattered your heart and mind like daggers of ice. From my own broken heart, I spoke words that did the same to you, as you did to me. The same that was done to you, long before I came in to being. Mothers, daughters, families destroying each other.

Softer. I wanted to be that. I wanted to be your shelter. To be your safety and your haven. I felt rejected when you refused and constantly cried for your son and your daughter despite me being the one standing in front of you. All over again, or still, I just wasn't enough for you. Now I get what you meant. I was right when I thought I wasn't enough, but it wasn't about me, was it mom? You wanted the whole picture. The entire family. The way it was supposed to be. You were always looking at what was missing. So, in my rejection, I removed myself at times from your picture so you had more to miss. I'm sorry for that.

I understand you more in death that I ever died in life. Why is it this way? But I get it. I do and I agree.  No mama, it was never supposed to be this way. We both had different visions and different dreams and life left us wanting. But was it ever supposed to be any particular way mama? Or were we just supposed to do the best we could and learn to adjust and adapt? We both went about it in different ways and it didn't do either of us any good, did it? Guess we still have some learning to do.

Mama, I know in your crazy world you chose life. Like me. Therefore, we did what we had to do to live. We fought and made mistakes. Sometimes terrible mistakes. You were quite the fighter and I learned a few skills from you. But I also learned that we are the same. The one that I fought hardest in my life was the one most like me. Our hurts were the same. Our desires, our dreams. The same. But our lives were quite different, weren't they? You kept looking for what you didn't have. Your idea of family, vacations, and all the regular kinds of celebrations. I was looking for what I didn't have too. Love and acceptance.

Our pain made us who we became. I'm so sorry mama. I really understand why you kept saying "It's not the way it was supposed to be." The words of love you could not say by themselves were hidden inside things you said. Your cryptic messages, which were meaningless at the time, said them.

I do miss you. With all my heart. I miss our talks, laughter, tears, hugs. I miss the mom I didn't have, and I miss hearing about the girl you might have been. I miss all the memories we never made. I don't miss any of the bad stuff, which is pretty much all of it, but I miss you. The person. The woman. The mother. The child that God calls his daughter. I felt his tears for you mama. Did he tell you? I heard him calling you to come home. I know you believed in Him and you were so angry at Him. I know that you believed you had good reasons. We all believe that. I hope you're happy. I am trying to be. I think of you almost every day and your pictures are on my wall and on my shelf. I wear your sweater when I get cold, and I put your nighties in a pillowcase and when I am lonely for you, I bring it to bed and hug it. Like our sleepovers. You really loved those and I was terrified. I was so afraid of you. I wear your purple shirt (because it fits now) that we wore that day to the Cancer Clinic. The best day I ever had with my mom. I use your dishes, towels, and see the depression glass it's beautiful colors on the window ledge. I am thinking of writing our story like I promised but I don't know if I can mom. Will it help anyone? I no longer wish to hurt or shame you, but you said you wouldn't care. So unlike you. My head still hasn't stopped spinning with that one. Well mom, wish you were still here. Don't miss the tangling but do miss the softer moments. Wish we had more of them. Oh, I have tried (a little) to keep in touch with Stevan. I tried calling him a while ago but there was no answer. The few times I did talk to him, he doesn't seem like he wants to talk. He misses you too.

I'm reminded of the promise to restore the years the locusts have eaten. It had great meaning during this process and I came across this blog God Can Restore Your Lost Years. Colin Smith explains so well exactly what that verse means. If our story helps just one person, then her life was not in vain. It did have value and meaning. May God perform a miraculous healing in all of us broken people and for the MNPD people in our lives. I believe they too were broken by someone. Theirs manifested in a horrible and destructive way and I am reminded "There but for the grace of God.." My mom could not be anything other than what she was. Do I believe she was evil? Not any longer. I believe she did evil, but don't believe that she was evil. Would I stay around an MNPD today? Absolutely not! Not for one blessed second and neither should anyone else. My position is after a lifetime of therapy, healing, searching, fighting, struggling, screaming, losing my mind, meditation, etc. etc. etc. I am now in my mid 60's and feel peace for the first time ever. It is a very foreign feeling. 

Black is Never White, Up is Never Down

My malignant narcissistic sociopathic mother had ways of doing things to get to you. To teach you, not to do what was right, but to teach you to cater to her needs and moods. Somehow, I was supposed to have a mind connection to her so I would intuitively know what she felt, thought, and needed. If I didn’t, the punishment was swift and severe. Before she died, we had a conversation. She said she wanted to help me deal with my childhood issues. LOL! That should have been a red flag! But I took the bait. I bit in the insane hope that this time she meant it. That this time, she would be honest. That this time we would understand, and heal. How incredibly foolish of me. I was still dancing at the end of the marionette stings she was pulling.

“Mom, do you remember when I was nine, and you made me sit on the chair, with the threat of death if I got off it, and made me watch you die. You know, when you took all those pills?”

                “Yes, I do.”

“Mom, did you stop and wonder what that would do to my 9 year old mind? You made it my fault for some silly infraction I no longer remember. Maybe because I didn’t sweep the floor proper, or I didn’t properly make my bed, or forgot to comb my hair. You told me, that because I disobeyed you, you no longer wanted to live. You told me that if  I loved you, I would have followed your rules. Since I did not follow the rules, that meant I did not love you, and if I did not love you, you did not want to live any longer, and since it was my fault you did not want to live, I could watch you die.”
               
                “Yes, I do. You know what you did.”

“Mom. I was 9. What did I do that was so horrible that I had to go through that? What? Not brushing my teeth? Not picking up my dolls? What merited that kind of punishment?”

“Well, you need to understand what I was going through at that time. You never once stopped to think what I was going through, did you? You never stopped to thing about me once. It was all about you. You didn’t care that my marriage was falling apart, did you. No, you didn’t!!”

“Mom. I was 9. I’m supposed to be playing with my dolls and not worrying about my parents martial problems.”

“Well, then that’s the problem. If you only put yourself in my position then you would know and understand.”

_____

My mom’s marital problems at the time were of her own doing. She was having affairs and my father had left. He later sued for divorce and cited adultery with multiple men. He was granted the divorce AND custody of his children.  I have his divorce papers. My mother insisted the papers were fake. She claims the Catholic Church granted her an annulment due to my father’s desertion. This is after she had 4 children by him. Of course, it is not true.

Another time, I had really annoyed her. She was getting more and more violent, crazy, and impossible to please. The rages were frequent. She claimed that I was incorrigible and had proof that I was taking drugs and was promiscuous and asked for a commitment to a mental hospital. It was granted. I was 17. There are no words to describe the horror of being committed to a mental institution when there was nothing wrong with you. That the truth was you were being abused, mistreated, bullied, humiliated, tortured, shamed, and living in absolute fear!! Well, after all the assessments I was declared sane and a motion was made to make me a ward of the court due to the “psychopathic nature of the mother”. My mother fought it. She claimed the doctors were biased against her and demanded new doctors. The court granted her wishes so I was reassessed by more doctors. Their findings were the same. She fought again, and again. It took seven months before I was legally allowed to be released into a foster home. The court ruling was she had 7 days to comply with signing her parental rights over to the court of be committed herself. She signed. I was legally free of her, but I have never been free emotionally. She is there constantly, denying my reality. She visits my dreams and I wake up screaming. I dream that I am in a court, or in front of accusers showing proof of what she has done. I show pictures, documents, and testimonies and she and they laugh and deny it. Call me delusional. Call me evil. Call me wicked. Say I have a vivid imagination. Say I live in a fantasy world. That black is white. That truth is fiction.

While I was there. Committed against my will as a minor, my mother added shame and humiliation. She told my grandma, aunts and uncles, cousins, and schools that I had been committed due to drug use because I had destroyed my mind with them and was basically a vegetable. She told them that I was not allowed visitors. So, she cut me off from everyone. Imagine my surprise when I found out what she had done. I called my aunt up one day and she said "I am so glad that you are out of the hospital and doing so well now. Your mom said you were even unable to communicate. You aren't going to do drugs again, are you honey?" I was like "What?" I never did drugs. Not ever.

My adrenal glands produce too much adrenaline. It happens in some cases of PTSD. Some cases the adrenaline just spikes in certain situations. Mine stays up constantly. It is damaging my body organs. My doctor says it will take my life eventually unless I find a way to reduce it with meditation or reprogramming. My psychiatrists have said mine is among the worst of abuses they have seen and in cases like mine, it is very difficult, if not impossible to turn off the flow of adrenaline.

My mom made me promise before she died that I would tell our story. She did not want me to tell it while she lived and I wouldn’t have dared to speak a word of it. I lived in fear of her anger. She told me, that after she died, she wouldn’t care and just maybe, she said; it might help someone. That was the first time that I heard my mom consider somebody other than herself. A little glimmer of the possibility that there was a heart in her. That there was a little tiny bit of compassion and made a little understanding. I don’t know. I never could figure out her mind or what her needs were and if I did, the way I addressed them was always wrong.

I spent the last two years of her life being there for her. I bought her things, visited her, stayed with her. I encouraged her, forgave her, loved her. I cooked for her. And just about every time I was there, she would ask about my sister, about my brother, why they wouldn’t come, why they didn’t phone, why, why, why. Not “I’m so glad you are here.” Always, where are they. I was never good enough for her, even at the end when I was the one who was there. She wanted my other siblings. The ones who made her shine for a moment with their fame and talent. She longed for the spotlight to return. I couldn’t give her the fame so I was inconvenient.

I am glad that I worship and follow a God that accepts me.
“Therefore, accept each other in the same way that Christ accepted you. He did this to bring glory to God” (Romans 15:7)

I am also so extremely grateful that I have a God that allowed me to forgive my mom, and that he too forgives my mom. I don’t believe she ever asked for forgiveness because she does not think she did anything wrong, but have prayed and asked God to forgive her. I believe he answers prayer.

Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours. (Mark 11:24)

I believe I will see my mom in Heaven. I believe that all the things that happened here in this fallen world will fall away and we will we see each other as God intended. With Love.