Friday, July 26, 2013

Writer's Workshop Friday - I am not my mother's daughter, by Anonymous

Welcome to Writer's Workshop Wednesday!  This is my way of paying it forward to all the people out there who want to start writing, but don't have their own blogs yet, or who are established writers that are looking to appeal to a different audience. I have also opened this up to those who would like to post anonymously about topics that are too difficult to write about publicly. Each week, I will host one or two posts by different writers.

I hope that you enjoy this series, I hope you find some new writers to follow, I hope this helps them out and I hope we can all learn something from them.

I know that it's not Wednesday, but this submission just came in and I didn't want to wait to share it with you all. 

This one is anonymous, from a daughter of a mother who has spent most her life questioning everything, who sees things more clearly now, but still doesn't understand. 

With love and respect, her story.

I am not my mother's daughter
Technically, I am, of course. There's no denying the fact that we are genetically linked and that for a time when I was a child, she was the center of my universe, the one person that I was supposed to be able to look up to, the one who was supposed to love me unconditionally. 

Except that looking back now, I'm not sure that ever really existed. I'm not sure that any of my memories of my childhood are real the way that I remember them. I know now that so much was tempered by someone else, someone who isn't here anymore.

I know that most of my life was a competition. She took things from me because she could until I realized what she was doing and drew a line in the sand. She still tries though.

My mother is mentally unstable. What exactly is wrong with her remains a mystery because she refuses to believe that anything could be wrong.  She won't get help. She refuses evaluations. She insists that she is fine and always finds someone or something else to blame everything on.

I've been thrown under that bus too many times to count, blamed for things that couldn't possibly have been my fault because it was easier for her to do that than to admit that her choices had hurt other people, and had hurt herself.

I think that maybe she doesn't really have a choice in the truest sense anyway, that maybe whatever is going on inside her mind is too far gone for her to even be capable of deliberate choice. There are many who have said that it's possible that she has borderline personality disorder, and I know that it's certainly possible. 

I know that it's probably more than possible. I know that it's probable.

She lies. She manipulates. She mimics whatever tragedy affects someone else and attempts to one-up them. It's like a sick game where the biggest loser wins. It always has to be about her. It always has to be worse for her. Bigger. More painful. Everything always has to be about her. 

She uses people for whatever she wants to use them for until she tires of them. She will tell anyone who will listen about how many times those who are supposed to love and support her, namely me, have betrayed her. She will sway their opinions, make them hate me, set them on me like a pack of rabid dogs insisting that I should be ashamed of myself for the things she said I did.

Except none of it is ever true. Not in whole anyway. There may be tiny pieces of truth that have been contorted to suit her, but never full truth about anything. Everything is always spun to make her out to be the victim, because that's what she wants. Everything is spun to lay fault at the feet of someone else.

All the time.

She doesn't want help. She wants sympathy. She wants someone, anyone, to feel sorry for her, and she will go to extreme measures to get it.

Once people start to get close enough to actually ask questions, to wonder why things never get better for her, or start to care enough to take an active role in her health conditions, she turns on them, just like she did to me and to so many others.

Again, she doesn't want help. She wants sympathy. 

She doesn't want to get better. She wants attention.

She plays to her audience perfectly. And they fall for it, new people, all the time.

I've given up trying to warn them. I have a hard enough time dealing with the aftermath that affects me, I can't try to save everyone else too. Besides which, it doesn't work, my warnings. Already manipulated by her, they are already conditioned to hate me, to automatically distrust everything I say. They'll learn eventually. 

They always do.

They can run away from it. They can learn the lesson and move on with their lives. I can't.

I can't just ignore her. I am her daughter. 

But I am not like her.

And I never will be.

3 comments:

  1. i feel for you honey. You are strong for verbalizing this. I have a wonderful mother, but my biological father is a hot mess. So I feel your pain. Know that you are the captain of your ship and you are the stronger one. That and a lot of praying gets me through my tough times.

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  2. Oh man. She's supposed to be your rock, and instead she's your own personal earthquake. Hang in there. I'm passing this one along to my best friend. She could easily have written it.

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  3. Sister ... we meet. Glad I am not the only disowned daughter. (((HUGS))

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