Waiting for today...: Crash

Thursday, October 22


con’t from: Trying Times
I had dual feelings at the end of that school year. On one hand, I feared being left back would have disastrous implications on any future plans for college. But on the other hand, I felt relieved. It was an opportunity to have a fresh start. I would still have my friends but I no longer would feel threatened by my then classroom bullies. That sentiment was not shared at home though. With my secrecy and her lack of insight, how could my mom even begin to understand?
I redeemed myself, however! An opportunity to graduate on time presented itself in the form of night classes. Of course the underachiever I became didn’t pass those classes with flying colors. Nevertheless, I passed. And it was a proud moment.  For me at least.
Tensions between my mom and I were on a sharp upward trajectory way before I failed the 10th grade.  For this, we were both to blame.  I was an insecure and rebellious teenager. Not only with a tumbling self-esteem but by then seized by passive-aggressiveness.  My mom had a strong-willed personality and reflexive emotional abandon due to a desperate need to guard her neglected and bleeding wounds.  Yes, she is resilient.  Despite my frustrations later in childhood she has overwhelmed the cruel odds that were set against her in her own childhood to my amazement.  
But hurting people hurt people, even if unintentional.  It is what it is.  And while parents are no exception, there were a few brow-raising moments that I can remember during the high school years. These would include not talking to or being short with me for days at a time, showing annoyance in response to my acts of affection and destroying my things.  But these paled in comparison to the hurtful things that were said.
As the issues between my mom and I mounted, I became envious of the relationships my friends had with their parents. Namely, my bestest and her mother. I often asked myself why our relationship seemed different, even cold at times.  I had so many unanswered questions. There were so many misunderstandings.  As we drifted further and further apart, I was left on my own to search for a root cause of the disconnect. What a heavy burden to bear even as a teen! Naturally, I searched my own childhood.  Soon I questioned every decision my mom made in raising me.  Next, I blamed her for all of our problems.  Yet we were both to blame because our ineffective communication.  That was the real culprit.
For example, up until a couple of years ago I had the impression that I was dropped off in the Bahamas at three months old.  I was actually three years old.  Furthermore, it was my grandma’s idea to watch after me until my mom finished school.  These misconceptions, seemingly harmless, led to intense feelings of abandonment. And I often wondered how long I would’ve been with my grandma had I not asked to come home at nine years old.  Similarly, the fear of abandonment drove me to allow my feelings to build to boiling points before sharing them.   So once I did, it was often with anger and contempt.

verb aban·don \ə-ˈban-dən\
1   a :  to give up to the control or influence of another person or agent
    b :  to give up with the intent of never again claiming a right or interest in <abandon
2:  to withdraw from often in the face of danger or encroachment <abandon ship>
3:  to withdraw protection, support, or help from <he abandoned his family>
4:  to give (oneself) over unrestrainedly
5   a :  to cease from maintaining, practicing, or using <abandoned their native language>
    b :  to cease intending or attempting to perform <abandoned the escape>

aban·don·er noun
aban·don·ment \-dən-mənt\ noun

from Merriam-Webster

I was angry.  She was guarded. And we would have at least two screaming matches before I left home.  One in which I poured out my heart, with anger but also with the rawest and honest of emotion. I was hurting; desperate for guidance. For insight.  In that moment I needed to see her vulnerability.  I needed to feel safe.  But… nothing.  I was shut out again. And then…
Now this thing with me and my mom.  She told me… I forgets what day but I was on the phone with my (bestest). My mom came to my door and said when I get off the phone she needed to talk with me… to cut this story short she said, “In January I’m moving into a one bedroom apartment, that will give you 6 to 7 months to find your own place… ~ Thursday, August 7th, 1997
That day my feelings of abandonment were brought full circle.  My feelings of being a throw away were reinforced.   Years would pass before we spoke of it again but she denied ever saying it.  Maybe I heard wrong.  Or maybe her mind, with great sorrow, repressed that memory. I may never get closure regarding that.
No worries.  

In the past few years we’ve often agreed that mother-daughter relationships will be contentious to a degree.  I would extend this to all parents and their children.  It’s just not something I could understand at the time and it was too painful to blindly accept. Ineffective communication... that was the real culprit.