About My Mother....... Part 1 of 6

I have very few fond memories of my mother. Most of them are mix together in a big blur. As soon as I was 18 years of age, I tried to move far away from her. Always trying to be different, always trying to do different than her.

There were times that I hated her. I did not want to be her daughter. I did not want to look like her and although my mother was an attractive woman, every time people will compare me to her, the thought of it made me cringe.

I never had a good relationship with her. Our personalities, our lifestyles, our ideas and ideologies were totally different. Sometimes I wonder if we were even related. Sometimes I wished we weren’t. I used to play with the idea that my mother was the lady down the street or the lady that served food at my school. When we had parents meetings at school, I never told her. Even in talent shows, I never invited her. I was embarrassed, nothing to do with the way she looked, but I was just embarrass to be her daughter. On my graduation day, I told her 20 minutes before taking off to the ceremony. I remember seeing her from across the auditorium, just not having many emotions towards her. I felt that the love that I felt for her was dormant, as if I was in a coma and will not be waking up soon.

I was just so hurt for her selfishness, I was hurt because she ditched my dad, I blamed her because I was not happy. I was angry because she never once told me that she loved me, because she lied about many things, because she tried to commit suicide. I was angry that she let my stepfather kick me out and all she gave me was 20 dollars. 20 fucken dollars, for crying out loud, I had no job, no where to go. I blamed her for all my insecurities, for my miserable life, for the feeling of emptiness that could never be filled. That was the way I felt about her.

As I grew older, I told myself that I loved my mother, that I had to be good to her, that if I am a God fearing girl, I should be the bigger person and just forgive her, even if she thought she did nothing wrong. I lived like this for a while, pretending that there was nothing wrong, that everything was nice and dandy. Was it? NO! It was far from peachy. I was still angry, I was resentful, I felt like I deserved an apology and the apology never came.

I tried to live with her once again, not because I wanted to, but I just felt sorry when she came to ask me to help her with the rent. I could not refuse to help her, that’s not what good girls do.

So I lived with her for sometime. She was so unstable, she was miserable herself and wanted to make everyone else around her miserable too. That was who my mother was.