I don’t really want to write at the moment because I really don’t want to be rude….but if I don’t write it now, it will never be written. There is a point when dysfunction goes past itself and into a really deep sickness. I’m not talking depression or bipolar junk (not that it’s junk), I’m talking about sick-sick to the point where, honestly, there is no hope remaining. I’m not the type of person to lose hope in others, but I do think there is a point when there really is no hope left. I’ve recently “reconnected” with my mom in attempt to work out a school assignment that only she could help me with. It went smoothly…ish. I kept it simple but still found out a lot of information that I don’t think she intended to tell me. She was polite. She held her manners well. However, like I do when I’m nervous, she had a bit of a meltdown. I made a comment about my dad not being my dad and she about died. To say it was funny was an understatement…and that might just be the part of me that REALLY wants revenge on her…but nonetheless it was funny. The conversation lasted about an hour and a half, give or take, but nothing was really discussed. It was like a run in with an acquaintance who rubs you the wrong way: do the best you can to stay  polite and keep it short. Anyways, the conversation–or just talking to my mom–really upset me. I still can’t stop thinking about it and it was about 2 weeks ago. A few days after our conversation, though, my brother had posted a picture that he’d drawn and my mom asked him (via Facebook) to draw her a tattoo…when my brother agreed and asked what she wanted, her answer knocked me over. I honestly think if I lived in the same state as her, I’d have hurt her. The tattoo she is getting is going to represent Unakite and the love she has for him. It’s going to have the amount of prison time in a creative way with the quote, “love trumps time” intertwined somehow. I wish I could go more in to detail but I can’t. I think this is the part of people I will never understand: the part that holds and clings so tightly to love, or what they perceive as love, that they disregard the things that really matter. I do this too, but I think some people take it to an extent that is just gross…like my mom. My mom is sick. Really sick. She goes past dysfunctional into a place that shouldn’t even exist. To be able to live with yourself and to have allowed some of the things that happened to me and my siblings should not be humanly possible. But it is. To help. To hold her child down while her “soul mate” ripped into her young child’s skin. To then tell her children that her “soul mate” is more important, more valuable, then them. Who does that?  To fight for the man who incessantly raped, beat and nearly killed her and her children. To allow her “soul mates” young children to get so caught up in drugs that they end up in her same situation. Who does that? And to wake up every day, with a plastered smile, like yesterday never happened…and to be truly convinced it didn’t. She is REALLY sick. A sick that I never realized. A sick that is SO deep I can’t even fathom. I told myself for years that my mom was just stressed and tired. I thought that it was something that she, like I, could walk out of. I always told myself that it was a phase and that one day my mom would wake up and want me, want her children, and leave all the drugs and sex. She hasn’t and she never will. She can’t. I used to believe there was hope for my mom..and now the vast majority of me feels that there really is none left for her. I am really struggling to hold onto her without having it antagonize and tear me down.

I know what I need to do, but it’s doing it that’s holding me back. Bailey is going back to my home state soon and I want nothing more than to go with her. I have to. I need to create closure with my mom and I can’t do it via the internet, I’ve tried. When I do it over the internet. I have intention, but lack the will…because I know that I can easily recall my words. I can’t do that in person. I can’t go back and try to become part of her life again. I need to talk to her face-to-face because I need to let her know that as much as I do love her and wish that she was well enough to be a part of my life, she’s not. I need to let her know that I can no longer allow her to drag me down. But mostly I need to tell her that she no longer has to claim me and that I understand her actions and words. I love her…but she threw the rights to claim me away when she chose the one sitting in prison over her own children. I’m not hers anymore. I am no ones and in this moment I am okay being no ones. There’s also another piece to it, though. My name. I don’t want it. The day that I realized how sick my mom really is my name became worthless–but even more than worthless, it made me feel dirty and wrong. Even still, weeks later, my name makes me cringe on the inside and I so desperately miss Bailey calling me by the name she used to. It makes my skin crawl every time someone calls out my name, even those closest to me. (Bailey, Becca, Zhanna) It’s hard. I don’t want my name but a part of me doesn’t want to change it. I’m stuck between holding one last piece of my mom and cleaning my slate. My name is bad. It represents everything bad I’ve done, everything I’ve survived…and I don’t want to be known for those things. So as the time approaches for Bailey to head to my home state, I debate whether or not to ask her to take me with her. I am so ready to just let my mom go…but I’m not sure I’m really ready to let the pain go. I’m not sure how to live without it.


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