"Hello, Mom?" *triggering*
ttoon
Registrant
When I started this journey I looked for validation from the more obvious sources...my brothers. I sought them out, each living in different cities, spread out, as far as they could get, comfortably, from the scene of the crime. Not too far but, far enough. Close enough so that in times of crisis they could come "home" in a day or less but far enough away so that they were not drawn into the never ending daily drama.
I asked the usual questions. "Do you remember?"
"I do not remember that much," an older brother admitted,"before the age of sixteen." Then he thought about it, "I've never really thought about it before. That is curious, isn't it?"
On discipline.
"Well," he said, "there was that time she broke the broomstick over my back. But," he went on, "I provoked her." As we talked he stopped, stared, said, "And, I remember her using the buckle end of dad's belt on us."
On protecting us.
"I remember her taking off, a lot." He said. "She would get him all pumped up then, just leave." A habit that left me unable to walk one July afternoon, laying on the floor of my bedroom. What did she imagine he was going to do, I wonder, as she lashed out at him repeatedly, was more than willing to tell anyone that cared to listen, how she would not put up with him hitting her but, did not share the same concern for her children.
After I disclosed.
"He did what he did to you, to get back at me. Because, you always gave the best hugs."
I disclosed to prevent her from agreeing to be his guardian, thereby releasing him from a court ordered psychiatric facility. The day after I disclosed, she signed the papers letting him out.
On being a mother.
I went up to the hospital every day to be with my brother as he was dying. She came up once a week, for an hour. The last time I saw her which, was nearly three years ago, was as he was dying and she was angry at me for spending so much time with him and, not her. "What about me?" She screamed at me.
Mothers.
Statistically, mothers are the primary care takers for their children...then, why, do you think, women, in a general sort of way, are so surprised that men grow up to be men?
Last year at this time I got a call from my sister-in-law. "Your mother is in the hospital," she said. "They do not think she is going to make it." I swear, I heard, "Ding dong the bitch is dead," in my head as we talked.
She presented with a heart attack, they gave her blood thinners then noticed that she had a bleeding ulcer. When I was a little boy, telling her that my stomach hurt (admittedly, omitting that the cause was from being raped) she would say, "You probably have an ulcer. Eat some crackers and have some milk."
The irony of her dying because of an ulcer was too cool. Too poetic. But, she lived. Damn.
Bitch, cunt, piece of shit...all accurate as she defends my father even after four of my siblings have died as a direct result of the misinformation, the abuse and the need to minimize it all in order to make it through the day...week, years.
"You are not a mother and, you will never understand," she said.
No, I don't. Because I cannot, as hard as I try, imagine what it is like to be that selfish.
"Hello, Mom? Fuck, you."
:whistle:
Dave
I asked the usual questions. "Do you remember?"
"I do not remember that much," an older brother admitted,"before the age of sixteen." Then he thought about it, "I've never really thought about it before. That is curious, isn't it?"
On discipline.
"Well," he said, "there was that time she broke the broomstick over my back. But," he went on, "I provoked her." As we talked he stopped, stared, said, "And, I remember her using the buckle end of dad's belt on us."
On protecting us.
"I remember her taking off, a lot." He said. "She would get him all pumped up then, just leave." A habit that left me unable to walk one July afternoon, laying on the floor of my bedroom. What did she imagine he was going to do, I wonder, as she lashed out at him repeatedly, was more than willing to tell anyone that cared to listen, how she would not put up with him hitting her but, did not share the same concern for her children.
After I disclosed.
"He did what he did to you, to get back at me. Because, you always gave the best hugs."
I disclosed to prevent her from agreeing to be his guardian, thereby releasing him from a court ordered psychiatric facility. The day after I disclosed, she signed the papers letting him out.
On being a mother.
I went up to the hospital every day to be with my brother as he was dying. She came up once a week, for an hour. The last time I saw her which, was nearly three years ago, was as he was dying and she was angry at me for spending so much time with him and, not her. "What about me?" She screamed at me.
Mothers.
Statistically, mothers are the primary care takers for their children...then, why, do you think, women, in a general sort of way, are so surprised that men grow up to be men?
Last year at this time I got a call from my sister-in-law. "Your mother is in the hospital," she said. "They do not think she is going to make it." I swear, I heard, "Ding dong the bitch is dead," in my head as we talked.
She presented with a heart attack, they gave her blood thinners then noticed that she had a bleeding ulcer. When I was a little boy, telling her that my stomach hurt (admittedly, omitting that the cause was from being raped) she would say, "You probably have an ulcer. Eat some crackers and have some milk."
The irony of her dying because of an ulcer was too cool. Too poetic. But, she lived. Damn.
Bitch, cunt, piece of shit...all accurate as she defends my father even after four of my siblings have died as a direct result of the misinformation, the abuse and the need to minimize it all in order to make it through the day...week, years.
"You are not a mother and, you will never understand," she said.
No, I don't. Because I cannot, as hard as I try, imagine what it is like to be that selfish.
"Hello, Mom? Fuck, you."
:whistle:
Dave