Mother Issues

her mom hated me, like my mom hated me. this hatred.

just feed it, fed it, the more I overthought it. I fed it, I know. yet the yesterday’s I sat traumatized by being raised by a pyschopath woman spilled into my power. I had a strange relationship when it came to the word “mother.”

I wondered why her mom hated herself. the same reasons my mom hated herself, probably. & all they could do as moms was have kids they could use slyly to fill their self~love holes

& hide it behind, “ I just care about my daughter, I love her.”

I know fake love, I know the parental matrix. I been down the road of laying face down in my own puke because of parents who knew no other than the human beings they had control over, & could do whatever they wanted to, because “they’re my kid!”

she didn’t get it. how broken the picture was. her mom with her shiny house, building a job she didn’t like but wasn’t even conscious enough to know she didn’t enjoy expect for the money aspect, how that didn’t make her mom successful. so she chased money, she thought money was the goal. because her mom said so.

her mom just loved her so much. she couldn’t help but notice the love wasn’t genuine, it wasn’t coming from a whole person.

her moms fancy Utah friends who also hated themselves & banned their own kids from their own home because they were homophobic, she didn’t get that wasn’t the way we treat people &

her moms friends were a direct reflection of all her moms insecurities, just there comforting her own moms homophobia. feeding her moms victim~hood stance.

I know I’m making myself a victim by caring enough to speak about this person who hated me. but I loved her daughter. & her daughter loved me.

she loved her mom, more.

her mom didn’t like me because I was having sex with her.

what is a mom, if she’s only building a human being to be like her? To adopt her beliefs & ideas & her mindset, & if not, her child was worth less.

or, worthless. depended on the mom.

her mom didn’t like me, she hated me as she spoke all the ways she loved her daughter, but yet hated all her daughter did.

this hatred bled into me. because she loved her mom, her mom was two~faced with me, playing games between the both of us, & blinding everyone to the signs by how

“family oriented” she was. she loved her family.

she married the guy she cheated on her kids dad with, & that guy was nice.

he was a hard working soul & he talked to me about shrooms & gave me hugs every time he saw me.

but he didn’t fit the way her dad, states away in LA, fit in my heart. I wondered how her dads kind eyes & humor could’ve survived a second with the way her mom spoke everything she wanted to be, but never was. his heart felt the hate too.

this is only my perspective. it’s a conscious perspective her moms family would have no idea about, completely deny,

her mom is so family~oriented.

a perspective her moms friends with tight faces from Botox & who stared at me while her mom fed them bullshit about me, who still smiled at me when I said “hi” yet made sure their eyes said the opposite,

well they’re just as broken as her mom. they’ll probably talk about it at the club later or tweet about it. they don’t care. they love the drama.

a perspective, she will fight. she doesn’t even understand the tip of when I explain it. a perspective I screamed at her on the way home from the beach once because her ears were hearing, but not her heart. a perspective she will deny. because,

her mom made her an extension of herself. she is a version of her mom. her body is her mom. her mind is corrupted by her moms. a replica. & her mom would treat me baldly in front of her, hiding behind a laugh & a loving pat on her daughters head, & the hatred seeped all into me as

she just let it go.

& her mom hated me. so my love for her daughter drifted into oblivion as her moms ways became dominant in her whole way of living.

she loved her mom. she loved her family. family was everything to her, because her mom was a broken person & she raised a broken daughter. & so, how dare she not have her mom. her family. if she didn’t have her family, she’d have nothing.

she told me that often. i understood why she felt that way. but it still made my soul cry.

nothing. she thought she was nothing, but her mom & her family.

& I ran away at age 8 in a snowstorm after the abuse got life threatening bad from my mother & I still yelled “Mommm” as I sat crying freezing to death in the forest. I begged to use the phone to call my mom when CPS took me away from my home because my mom was starving me. & when I moved out the day I turned 18, I never felt happier or more free or sane than when left that house, yet i texted my mom constantly for a while trying to understand her.

mothers, they’re all we know if we have them. it’s a type of sense we learn to accept by society. this sense that says, we love our mothers if they do the bare minimum of feed us & clothe us & give us a home. we love our moms if they spoil us with a luxury life of travel & physical comfort yet break our brains. we love our moms if they torture us.

her mom hated me, & that sliced the wounds I had stitched carefully from my own mom.

but if she loved her mom, I had no right to say that wasn’t perfect.

her mom needed every ounce of love she could get.