Confession: I Hate My Mother

I feel compelled to make a confession, and I am sure that my brutal honesty just might make someone wiggle or be appalled by what I have to say. But I'll say it anyway because it's just something that I have to do to come to terms with some issues that have been hanging over my head.

I think that I hate my mother. Well, my father too, but that's another case entirely.

I know that this is supposed to be something really taboo to say, right? But I just can't help thinking it every time that I speak with her. The hatred has been growing and building up as each year goes by. I keep waiting for the magical time when I am going to have patience, or forgive her, or all that crap that people tell you will happen when you get older. Yet as I get older I tend to dislike her even more.

I've got such complicated feelings about my mother. Sometimes I admire her for all that she had to overcome in her life because she has survived many tragedies. Sometimes I feel sorry for her, because even though she is not alone, she has managed to alienate herself from everyone around her. On other occasions I try to excuse her behavior, because I really think that she is mentally ill. But most of the time I just hate her guts.

Maybe it's not hate so much as the fact that I wish that she would just disappear and stay the hell out of my life.

I once told a counselor many years ago that I would feel relieved if she were to die, because I wouldn't have to continue to deal with her abusive behavior and her ability to make everyone fucking miserable. I was so ashamed to admit it at the time, but my counselor told me that many people have told her something similar over the years.

I later confessed this to my boyfriend, and he said that I "didn't really feel that way" and that I was just acting out because I was angry. He told me that if she were to pass away that I would feel so guilt ridden that I wouldn't be able to live with myself. He told me that I would always beat myself up for not having spent quality time with her.

I think that the only thing that I will mourn when she is dead and gone is something that I never had-a functional, loving mother.

It's easy for him to tell me that I am just acting out, and that I "don't really mean" what I am saying. Yet he never had a mother who pulled out his hair until his head bled because of something trivial, like not having vacuumed in a straight line. His mother might nag at him, but he can at least sometimes have decent conversations with her that don't always resort to name calling, cursing, criticizing and put downs. Oh, I can go on and on, but why even bother?

All I know is that my life is wonderful when I manage to avoid her for months on end.

My mother left home when she was about fifteen years old and she never talked with her mother again until she was forty years old after her mother had a stroke. She never allowed us to visit her mother and wouldn't talk about her mother at all. All these years I have brainwashed myself that my mother was just repeating what had happened to her and it wasn't her fault. The older that I get, however, and the more that I see that she is able to function like a normal human being at work without smacking the shit out of an employee, I refuse to accept that she has no control over her behavior.

I am able to break convention in so many ways and I never give a shit what anyone thinks about me, but for some strange reason I have not completely been able to break away from her and cut off all contact because I have been so brainwashed by society that I am supposed to forgive her because she is my mother and she sacrificed for me in many ways.

Perhaps me blogging about this taboo subject is a small step that I am making towards just closing up my heart and trying to cut off all contact with her.

I bring this topic up because on Thursday she contacted me and told me that she had a lump in her armpit near the lymph nodes and that she will be having an operation on Monday. Someone else might be upset about this news in regard to their mother, but I felt nothing and carried on with my life. She has been calling me with a worried sound in her voice all weekend and leaving messages (because of course I have been avoiding her).

Due to that nagging little voice in my head that has been imposed on me by society, I thought that it would be respectful to call her tonight and chat with her for a couple of minutes since she will be having surgery tomorrow morning. She does have heart problems after all and being put under anesthesia might cause problems. Within the first five minutes she managed to bitch, moan, bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch about anything and everything about me. I finally said, "Ok, bye, have a great fucking surgery" and I hung up. It seems like the past two years all I fucking do is hang up on her after speaking with her for more than five minutes.

I suppose that not much more can really be said about this topic, other than what I've already said. I suddenly feel light and free, as if I am moving towards finally being able to close the door on my relationship with her.