Life has been trying. I have been trying. I am tired.
My mom, my abuser, is dead. Has been since 2001. Last Friday was the anniversary of her death. Usually I breathe a sigh of relief on some days. It’s complicated for sure – I have complex emotions and over the years I’ve done better with managing them. There is always some fragmentation but I had been pretty certain it would be an uneventful year. I usually get plagued with the same thoughts – go to the grave or not? Mark the day or not? Mourn for the mother who was sometimes decent or not?
This year was different. This year has been one of many changes. As I continue to lose weight I scrutinize my face and my body for signs of my mother. As I loose weight I feel more exposed and vulnerable. There have been some sleepless nights and panic attacks in clothing shops. As I scrutinize myself in mirrors I remember all the times I was paraded around and put on display.
Right now I’m battling a leg infection. I was in hospital for a few days on iv antibiotics. As the doctors puzzle over what I have, some scary words are being thrown around. “Malignancy.” “Aggressive auto-immune.” “No idea, really.” “Biopsy.” “Multiple cultures.”
My first thought, truthfully, was that my mother was coming to get me. Mad at me for talking, even though it’s only to my therapist. Furious at me for being angry at her and blaming her for my flaws.
Right behind that was the fear of dying and having to come face to face with her. What if she scammed her way into heaven? What if I’m so rotten I hook up with her in hell. What if there is neither heaven nor hell, and I’m reincarnated into this dynamic all over again because I haven’t learned “this lesson.” What if we all just warp into some other parallel universe where I’m left looking over my shoulder.
Needless to say my PTSD is in high gear. I hear her everywhere. I jump at the slightest sound. I’m torn between wanting to find her and torch her and wanting to prostrate myself to her. I cry. I cry a lot.
I have about three weeks to wait to get all of my test results in. It’s going to be a rough road. Any suggestions are welcomed.
” I have to block out thoughts of you so I don’t lose my head
They crawl in like a cockroach leaving babies in my bed
Dropping little reels of tape to remind me that I’m alone
Playing movies in my head that make a porno feel like home
There’s a burning in my pride, a nervous bleeding in my brain
An ounce of peace is all I want for you. Will you never call again?
And will you never say that you loved me, just to put it in my face?
And will you never try to reach me?
It is I that wanted space”