Detox Diaries # 12

     . . .my mother. Yep, she’s the person I’ve been talking about throughout this entire series. SHE planted most of the seeds that later became the heart, soul, and inspiration for the Detox Diaries. She’s also the one I keep the most secrets from and compulsively lie to the most. It’s her loss I grieved the most when it became clear that I would probably never feel a deep connection with any of my family members ever again. It wasn’t until several years ago when I could finally face that fact and then sever almost all of my mental and a good chunk of my emotional connections to all of them.
More than anything, I had always wanted the kind of mother-daughter relationship that existed between my mom and my older sister. It was/is very open and honest. They talk on the phone ALL the freakin’ time while I look on in envy and mild awe because I can’t remember the last time she and I just shot the breeze like that. . . Wait . . .did we ever just shoot the breeze like that?!
Anyways, revealing the identity of that (certain person) is really causing me to look back on what our relationship from what it was to what it is now. I do recall spending a good amount of time with my mother when I was little. I also remember us drifting apart as I got older. And then some rather unfriendly elements popped up in there along the way and I’m still really baffled by that whole thing. For the life of me, I could never understand why it suddenly seemed like she didn’t seem to wand to talk to me or know me as I really am. Why, more and more often, I’d unknowingly say the “wrong thing” which would offend her somehow and trigger yet another one-sided “argument” where I would always be wrong.
And it never mattered what I said or didn’t say, or what I did or didn’t do. It was the most unsettling thing. Eventually, I just started letting her say whatever the hell she wanted until she got tired and finally left me alone. Which was what I wanted in the first place if she was going to act like that every time we spoke. I can’t bring to mind all the awful things she used to say. I just remember that they were awful and would echo within me for years to come. Now I’m wondering if all those things she said could be considered as mental and emotional abuse.
As things stand today, my mother still really doesn’t know me as a person. She has no idea what I’m really good at and neither do I because I believed her messed-up assessment of me for all them years. I’ve never been able to tell her about all the wonderful things I’ve been able to see and learn about. I haven’t breathed a word to her about all the projects that I’ve been working on. A lot of that is thanks to all those BS “arguments” and her capacity to cause ideas that haven’t even made it off the ground to just crash and burn.
You know, I’d be willing to bet actual money that she thinks I’m either a freak of nature, an idiot, or a little of both. She has been giving me these odd looks for quite some time now. She never talks to me when she’s doing it and it creeps me the f*ck out because I have absolutely no idea what to make of the situation.
Now, all of this doesn’t mean that I don’t talk to my mom at all. We do talk, but only about trivial matters that just skim the surface. I’m always careful to never reveal too much in our “conversations.” My real thoughts and feelings on any given subject remain well out of her sight. It’s not ideal, but it does cut down on the pointless arguments that go nowhere fast.
Anyone reading this might think that I’m trying to place all the blame on her for my past and present life issues or that this is just a cop-out. Do I blame her? Well, the truth is that . . .


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