About Mothers and Honesty pt 1.

The fall when I stayed home taking a break from university, and trying to recover from the sexual assault and get out of the depressing world in my head, me and my mom started fighting a lot. There was fighting, and shouting, and crying.

My mom knows too little of my summer, which I have protected her from or so I think, and she keeps giving me this long lectures of why haven’t I gotten that job and why am I not looking for another.

I can not explain myself in any shape or form that would make sense- I’d rather cut my tongue and let all my blood drain that do it. My mom is stressed so she sometimes overreacts about things, to which I have learned to just keep quiet and just let her have at it until she calms. I know I’m fully justified in what I do even if no one sees it. But all of her yelling just increases the pressure I’m under and the constant headache I’ve been having the last months.

I feel like I’ll burst in tears when she does that-but I have no official reason to justify such crying all the time- so I start shouting back, in a high pitched voice that allows me to keep the crying for later, a voice I don’t recognize. Who is that person?

If I knew how, I’d gladly stop, but I can’t. That makes my mom more angry. I don’t blame her- I’m supposed to help them out with money, or study or do something, but all she sees is me watching or reading, or sleeping and seeing people. I’m wasting, not making money, and at a time when they really need them.

BUT I know my reason trumps that, and I know I can’t say it. So I have to make a good performance. It all becomes some very sick cycle.

The anger I have never experienced before has settled in a big cold ball in my stomach, eating away at my strength, growing and taking permanent place there.

The ring of headache around my head closes further and stings with steel spikes into my brain. I can’t take my mom’s rants about money anymore, but I’ve been good girl all my life and look how far it’s gotten me.

So that’s over. I’m gonna do what I need for me. There is no turning back.  I just let her rant, nodding and agreeing with her. I shrug my shoulders- wish I could help, they are saying, but that’s how things are. Won’t apologize for that anymore. Or for anything.

“Your room is messy” A shrug. “You made him feel like that job is beneath you and you are lying around all they and he won’t offer it again, how can you do such idiocy” A shrug.  I’m a wall. Nothing reaches me, I’m too far under to notice. “What are you going to do when we can’t pay your next semester.” Another shrug. There was a time when I thought what I did made a difference. I’ve woken up pretty hard since then.

“Don’t you care about anything? Are you listening to me at all? Say something!” I can’t get out of it with another shrug, so I dig my nails into the chair under the table, until I feel very cold, and dig into my tasteless food with overdone concentration.

That’s not gonna fly so I look up straight at my mom, loosing grip on the anger I have been containing so carefully. My face flushes in red. “It’s not like you ever hear what I have to say anyway, or that you care about what I want. You just care whether I have that stupid job. Why would you pay for me to get to university if you want me to get such job at the end?” That will backfire and I know that it will the moment I say it but I can’t stop myself.

That fall we have that fight over and over again, along with all kinds of other fights, and I can’t stop. I’m not an angry person, I tell myself…yet for a reason I don’t understand, I can’t stop shouting at my mom….

*

Note:

In a post few weeks back, I mentioned that I have decided to leave this blog.

Truth is, there are stages of recovery that I am going through, that are a lot easier than what I went through last year. Some of them are nice, some of them are still hard. There are things I wish someone had told me in the beginning of my recovery, and so I wish to share such things with all of those who will stumble upon my blog.

I guess even if someone had told me those things I wouldn’t have heard them, but I want to say this nonetheless. I started this blog for a reason, and may be I am not finished with the reason yet.

But don’t get me wrong.

This post isn’t about what rape did to my relationship with my mom. It’s more about what has happened since. However, I can’t fit that into 1 post because it’s too long. So this is it for now.

And so I’m back with more stories about my recovery.

Yours, Atlanta

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