I didn’t lose my mother

I didn’t lose my mother because you can’t lose what you never had.

My mother was a myth. My mother was a fantasy. My mother was a dragon in the basement. My mother was a poison ringed cup I stopped trying to sip from.

My mother was a jealous sister with power, a needy child in the drivers seat. My mother was unrealized potential that sat like a mountain in my path or a cat like ninja that would leap to block me at each turn, her posture perfect, her next move impossible to anticipate. The hit could come from any direction. I was never ready enough.

My mother was a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from.

My mother was an empty basket, water flowing through the weaving. My brother sat below her and I was placed off to the side, occasionally in the range of a splash.

I know the rules of the game. It was imperative that nothing good happen to me. Zero Sum. A win for me was a loss for her. There was only so much. Money, love, attention. There was only so much, except there wasn’t. Why earn your own when you can reach in and take your daughter’s. What kind of mother is this? I wanted a hand outstretched, a palm open and giving. Instead it is a clenched fist wrapped around my throat, the other hand turning the spotlight back to her. Disaster coverage is still coverage. She is still the front page story, even if the news is bad.

My mother was untouchable because I was afraid to anger the gods. What curse may befall me if I try to touch these soft feelings? Vulnerability is a trap. She will find you. She will use it. Keep your armor on in your sleep, child. Don’t be a fool.

And yes she was pretty and yes she was nice. Yes she said nice words and yes you believed them. She could have been good at so many things, but instead she was good at this, tearing her child apart piece by piece. Flesh of my flesh there can only be one you stay down.

Down was safe, away was safe, quiet was safe. I was never truly safe. Missiles would spill out of her mouth when she spoke. A great tornado unleashed when she opened the door. My mother the force of nature laid me bare with no shelter from her in sight while my father flapped in the wind like a torn flag.

I gag on the truth of it, heave it up like bile. “I need love I need love,” but my mother said no. Like love was a one way street. Like love was a beauty pageant with one queen. Like love was a game we play for our supper. Like our lives depended on it. Love was given and taken away depending on how well I played the part of ‘daughter,’ how convincingly I abandoned or contorted myself to fit her whimsey.

I pressed myself against the wall to avoid being seen, drawing fire. I tried camouflage, but my skin is a mood ring and I was always found. I learned to fight because I was so tender and I fight like a beast. I’ll bite out your fucking throat don’tyoucomenearme. I was domesticated then tormented. The family life isn’t safe for me.

Then I stepped into the room and saw her laying there, held her hand. She was so soft, her spikes all down, the war over. There is a little girl inside of me who climbed out. Behind the strong, beneath the ‘it is what it is,’ buried deep enough to be safe, buried alive. She’s angry with me and I’m sorry. I did what I thought was best, I got us this far dammit pleasedon’tbemad.

And all I wanted to do is crawl into that hospital bed. I wanted a Sunday morning mother I could lay with. These metal shields are heavy and I’m tired and no one can see me back here. I wanted a mother love I didn’t need to protect myself from, but I got an RV filled with explosives parked downtown on Christmas morning. I was 40 damaged buildings, eight dead, the pile of rubble left behind. Every time I never saw it coming. The authorities had probable cause but no one stepped in.

Deck the halls with ohmygodIcan’tican’tIhatethis. Tis the season to fuckallofthisthisbigliefuckyou. Don we now our maskfuckingfakersfakebullshitholidayoflies.