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from birth to love  5/12/2002  
writer`s name:in my tree

My mom and me, we've had a rough time.

It started when I was born.


And the beginning of the end of the rough time happened in February 1999, when she finally admitted to hating me.


It sounds harsh, but really, it was a relief to finally hear her say it.


I know that on this sacred mother's day we are supposed to wax poetic about our dear moms, and maybe that is real for some, but for me, I'm not there yet. Hell, we didn't start really liking each other until April 1999, so it's only been three years. That's 30 other years we have left to make up for.


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From the beginning of my memory, I knew my mother hated me. I blatantly accused her of it on many angry occasions, but it must be hard to admit that you dislike your child.


By the time I was born my mother was a raging alcoholic. Her and my father's marriage was rocky and soon to be ending. He was devastated, she was not...until she sobered up. Of which, was many times, until she "felloffthewagon."


When me and my sisters were kids we used to jump on my mom's bed in the morning and sing, "what do you do with a drunken mother, what do you do with a drunken mother." It was some pirate song that we altered to fit our mom.


My mom is a nurse. She was commended all of the time about how caring and wonderful she was.


My mom and I fought all of the time. She loved my sisters, it was very obvious and she would constantly be on my ass about being a "show off."


In therapy I realized that I was the extrovert she wanted to be, but couldn't be unless she drank like a sailor. (来源:英语学习门户网站EnglishCN.com)


Her favorite thing was to say to me, "quit showing off, Bette Davis!" It was very effective in shaming me and getting me to shut the fuck up. It totally stunted my creative, outgoing side. This stuck with me, until I wrestled free of it somewhere around 1993. I (somewhat) jokingly tell her now, "I could've been a successful actor, with tons of money, taking care of you...instead I'm a social worker trying to fix myself, along with the rest of the world, with all of my money spent on therapy." She started joking with me about this a year ago.


She eventually kicked me out when I was in 3rd grade. She called my dad and said, "come get her." She packed my bags and sent me off. She would tell me later, "you were always in my face, telling me how much better daddy was, so I let him have you."


I lived with him until I was 18.


After I left it was just a matter of time before we (my two older sisters and I) all lived with my dad. My mom sold everything, gave dad the "kids" and went to Greece for 6 months. She came back and left, came back and left, stayed for a while, but was a drunk mess. She was able to hold down a job usually.


In 1987, she finally went to rehab. She had really gone fruit loops and, I guess, realized that she needed some help. In April 1987, my mom got sober. She just celebrated her 15 years of sobriety.


It was better for awhile, but not long. Soon she became a sober drunk. I didn't really understand this oxymoron, but I can assure you now, it makes perfect sense.


For years we struggled with our relationship. It finally got so bad that I just couldn't be around her. She really was a raging bitch to me and my self esteem couldn't handle her exposure.


My sisters would tell me to "just ignore her" but I couldn't.


In February 1999 my mom went to an "encounter group" type of thing called the Landmark Forum. She called me after it was over and read me a letter. It said that she had hated me my whole life because she blamed me for the demise of her marriage to my father. I was a pretty powerful infant.


It sounded amazingly ridiculous. It still does in a way.


She realized the silliness of her thought process, but it's amazing what your emotions and brain will do to keep from holding yourself accountable.


She said that with this realization, she would get to a place of loving me. She would excise the hate for me with the slow acceptance that she was the reason she and my father didn't work out.


In April 1999, my mom came out to CA to take care of me after I had broken my leg. She waited on me hand and foot for a whole week. During that week I was reading the book, "Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood." In it there is a part where the protagonist's mother writes a letter to her friend after she has had an alcohol induced nervous breakdown. I read that letter and felt my mom's alcoholic pain and misery and I just bawled. The faucet was turned on and it wasn't shutting off. I called to my mom and took 5 minutes to explain because I was crying so hard.


We TALKED that day and night. Like we had never talked before. We cried and cried and cried. She held me and I held her and we used a whole box of kleenex. It was like starting over.


And since that day, my mom and I have slowly been rebuilding our relationship.


Tonight my sister made dinner and I gave my mom and "Aunt" Penny a manicure. I painted my mom's toes harlot red and she loved them. We gave her a Quan Yin and she loved her.


At the end of the night, I hugged and kissed my mom and told her I loved her.


And she told me she loved me too.



 
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