Dear Mother (long) *TW*

[Sceal]

Dear mom.

I love you. I do.

I remember when I was a child I loved watching you sew, and I always wanted to be able to make clothes like you did. I wanted to be able to cook like you did, to be as creative as you were with christmas decorations. I loved baking with you. I loved it when elder and distant family members or friends of yours would say "you look so much like your mother did when she was a child", I still remember your uncle said to us once "You have the same beautiful eyes as your mother, only kinder". I was proud. And I felt that because we were so alike that I could do all the things you could.

Then you got sick. It wasn't your fault. I both remember and not remember what happened. We were in the car when it happened. You, father, former uncle A and aunt B, my sis and then I. You convulsed, you shook, you were having a seizure. I remember visiting you at the hospital in this foreign country. I don't remember much after that. I don't remember you getting a brain surgery, I don't remember travelling home, and I don't remember clearly what happened after you got home. I know you did the best that you could, I know you didn't have any help when father was away at work. I know you were barely holding it together with two young children at home, one a toddler, and me the seven year old. I remember that I often had the phone book out on the page for the ambulance, just incase you got sick again. But I needed you, dear mother. Or I needed someone. I was being bullied and no one saw. I was alone, and no one cared. I started believing the truth that I was worth no more than a thrall. That my entire existance meant to serve others -regardless of what I needed or wanted. But you were sick, how could I be a bother to you? You had problems enough, I didn't want to be a bother to you.

The years passed by, and you remained at home. It took over nine years before you returned to work. But you were different, again I do not blame you. I just missed you. We never talked about what happened, like we didn't talk about anything bad that was happening. We didn't talk about deaths, loss, fear, love, or any emotions really. What did we talk about? I think at some point we became strangers to each other, never really knowing the other person.
You often say to me that I didn't dare lie to you, because you knew everything anyway - so there was no point. This always hurt, for if this was true. Then why didn't you help me? The truth is, you didn't know everything. I just learned not to talk about things that hurt.

When I got so sick I couldn't deal with it alone anymore, I tried to shield you. You, father and sib. I didn't want to be a bother. I didn't realise it at the time, but I think this hurt you more deeply than I can understand. I didn't tell you then either what was it that made me so sick, I didn't tell you why it was I needed to cut my skin open, or why I wanted to die. And you didn't ask.

When I finally became an adult, you had been worrying about me for years, and now it was my sister's turn. It must have been difficult, but I wonder.. Maybe it would have been easier for all of us if you had just talked to us when we were children. If you had taught us how to deal with emotions, and had taught us that sharing our secrets aren't wrong. You wear me out these days. You've become so bitter, so angry. There's something wrong with the entire world, and people are idiots. The only thing that's important to you is to smoke your self to death and your dogs which you do not even walk.  I've invited you over for coffee so many times, even when we lived 10 minutes walk from each other. You never came. You always had an excuse, or it was better if I came over to you. I wanted to be your host mom. I wanted to show you what I had been working on. I wanted your company. It's like this everytime we plan something, you agree to begin with, but you always cancel. And on a rare occation you do come out, all you do is complain.

You and I. We had a plan. For years, we had a plan. You were turning 60 the year I turned 30. Our plan was that instead of a big party, we'd go away somewhere else in the world. Visit some place. We never bought the tickets because you cancelled "your father is making me travel so much this year, I am so tired. I can't do it". I felt dissapointment yet again. I had really been looking forward to this. This was something we both still enjoy. Dissapointed, but not surprised. A month before my 30th my father is taking me on a small local trip. In the car he says "your mom and I are going to Spain in November". I had a sinking feeling about the way he said it. I asked when. "We leave on the 20th". My birthday. My 30th birthday. I was angry. I felt betrayed, dissapointed. She wouldn't travel with me. None of them would. What was it that I had done that was so terrible? Am I so bothersome to be around? Couldn't they delay the trip for a week? Father's only excuse was "that's the day the plane leaves". BullSh*. Four days before my birthday I got admitted to the psych. ward. I never told you. So when you called on my birthday, it was weak. You gave me alot of money, as a way to silence my anger. My dissapointment. It feel I am not loved by you, mom.

I am trying to accept you for who you are now. For all your faults, for the lack of your ability to tell me you care. But I am struggling.

Dear mom, we're worried about you. We love you. We know you've had it hard and difficult. And we would like to be here for you - if only you would let us.
Stop pushing us away. Stop killing yourself. Stop isolating yourself. Talk to us. Or talk to -someone-. Please, mom.

[Blueberry]