Isn’t funny, maternity? It’s this invisible thing that is supposed to keep a mother and child connected, but in my experience it is just that, invisible. It’s non-existent. In the many years that i’ve watched my mother destroy herself there have been a few occasions that have really stuck out, this night was one of them, another would be the time I held her bedroom door closed from the outside for 3 straight hours, because she had a large knife and was jabbing it towards me and my father. But that is preferable compared to what has just unfolded. Tonight was the last night I saw the women in my home as my mother. She sits there day in and day out, drinking, slurring and swearing. She’s driven my father out of the country and broken my spirit. She is solely responsible for my trifector of mental disease and the damaged person I am today, all the tears, all the cuts, all the pain. She is responsible. I wouldn’t be able to publicly announce this unless what just happened, happened.
Tonight, Monday 8th September 2014 7:28pm, marks the night I lost my mother, though she isn’t dead, she may as well be. We came to such a calm agreement that once I move to Uni in 5 days we will cease what’s left of our relationship. This is one of those time where everything doesn’t seem quite real, but the pain was very real, crying didn’t convey the emotions that had torn through me like a hot blade, cutting my wrist didn’t show the true slashes that disfigured blade of a women left on me, scars don’t highlight the true damage left by her sharp and relentless abuse. But they do say that i’m broken, I struggled with that word because I didn’t want to believe it. But, low and behold, I am. And unfortunately no manner of kings men can ever put me back together. So if this is last I write of my mother, remember this, I am, who I am, because she never loved me, never cared for me, never wanted me. I have truly become my mothers son.