All the Horrible Girliness

It pisses me off that my mother doesn't know as well as I do how to run her life. I swear, she takes one step forward and three back at every turn. She staunchly refuses to be healthy in any way. She seems willing to throw everything good in her life away in one stupid moment. She stockpiles these stupid moments, has them every day. Every time she calls, I sincerely expect her to say that she's lost her job and her home because of some easily preventable fuckup.

Yes, I'm a control freak, okay. I hold the reins of my life and the lives of everyone I love very tightly. My son is not going to have an easy time of life and I know this going in. Let's just hope God warned him before he decided to plug his belly button into my uterus.

This is going to sound dumb, but I need to see it in print:

If I let go, everything will fall apart.

Actually, I thought that would look dumber.

That's my inner monologue, right there. Constant. Beating with my heart and my step. I thought that I was supposed to learn how not to live from my mother, so I went the opposite: planning everything, controlling everything, and when I wasn't on top of everything, worrying.

***

My mom isn't evil, she's an addict. Alcohol, unhealthy food, cigarettes, bad men, bad friendships, internet, you name it, I've seen her get addicted. She doesn't indulge. Her life is so full of sweets and fried foods and cigarettes and booze and ugly relationships that she lives inside indulgence.

I used to think that if I just yelled loudly enough, or shook her, she'd change. Then I thought if I was sweet to her, and reflected her true worth, she'd change. Then I thought if I gave her calm advice, step-by-step, she'd change. Lately I've just been listening, and shaking my head, because I'm at a loss. She has responded well to everything but the yelling. She agrees that she's fucked up. She even attempts change every once in awhile, but she does it all wrong. She's one of those people who will decide, on New Year's Eve, to change her entire life, and spend the first week in January drinking water, chewing Nicorette and killing herself at the gym, only to fail, grinning and shrugging about the uselessness of even trying.

I know real change happens a little at a time, and only with great effort, and I know it's worth it. She doesn't listen, though. She won't admit it, but she likes living in her squalor. She enjoys chewing on bad relationships and candy, and she thinks drinking and smoking make her cool.

***

It's frustrating because I admire her so much, how easily she gives of herself and forgives others, especially me. I wish I could cry as easily as she does. I crave her open spirit.

I know the problem is with me, that my pushing and shoving does not help her and only causes me grief, but I want her around for my son and she refuses to sidle away from the edge of death. Given two choices, she will always choose the one that shortens her life another day. She calls from her car in a snowstorm while lighting a cigarette and I wonder, will I have to listen to her die in a crash?

***

I started this thinking that I would write about the mother I wish I had, and how that mother wouldn't have messed me up so bad. I was also going to congratulate myself on forgiving her so many things, and have a little holy party, population one. If I'd written that, I wouldn't feel so wretched right now. Writing through this, I realize I give my mother so much shit because I'm ashamed not of who she is, but who I am.

It must be horrible to know that your kids wish you were someone else, and blame you for their problems. But that's motherhood, and it's my turn. Batter up.

posted by Samus @ 1:47 PM