If I had one wish. I’d wish to unburden my Mother from whatever plagues her.
The only problem is she can’t tell me what it is, and my heart can’t listen long enough to hear it.
She’s trapped, alone in her mind. A mind that tells her that she’s worthless, a nagging voice she drowns by walking for miles and miles, and dancing for hours on end. She tries to write it out, to get clarity, to make sense of what poisons her, but nobody understands. A darkness so toxic it has eaten away at her vibrant personality, stolen relationships and mutilated her body.
If I had to walk a day in her shoes, I would be mad too.
She married a foreign man, left her family and with barely a lick of English, followed him across the ocean to live in his country. But their love was destructive, too much fire and with the pressures of parenthood it soon burned out. She was then left with two children, no career, no friends, no family and no husband.
Looking back now I realize the crazy started with simple sadness, it grew to loneliness and that created vulnerability. She was vulnerable to all manner of people, all with an agenda, all ready to take. And they did.
I have always been deeply embarrassed by my Mother. I’ve harbored great resentment and anger towards her.
I can still hear people sneering, pointing and laughing at her, whispering behind my back. Children, adults, strangers, friends, family. Everybody.
To be crazy is to be ostracized.
Why couldn’t she get her shit together and be our Mum? Why did she have to ramble on to herself? Why did she have to scream in the street? Why did she jump the neighbors fence? Why are we walking in the middle of the night? Why won’t you eat something? Why are you crying?
I’ve blamed her for every traumatic experience in my life. For fights she wasn’t even present for. For personality traits she could never have fostered. For giving me her face.
We share a smile.
I never had empathy for her. I never tried to see the world through her eyes. I never tried to forgive. I never even tried to love her. But I desperately want to. Now.
The stigma of insanity no longer haunts me.
I don’t care. I should have never cared but I wanted so much to fit in and be normal. I wanted her to be normal.
I want to listen to her, to whatever she has to say and for the first time, it will be without judgement.
So. . . Hello madness, I’ve come to be your friend.