Not much has changed

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Looking back over the posts from around the time my mother died…not much has changed in me emotionally. Yes, I am not as prone to cry daily. But the guilt of “I didn’t appreciate her enough rages on, fed by images and nuances from the media…all forms.
He worst is the profound loneliness. Even though my Mom wasn’t “my Mom” for the last 7 yrs of her life, I still have to face the neon-bright and glaring fact that
I have no one who will always love me, no one that will always be on my side, no one that will actually LISTEN to me, simply because I am ME. Her only child. Her daughter. Her best friend. I am truly alone now – an island in the midst of storms, tsunamis and the unforgiving, blazing sun.



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This was one of the last words my mother spoke to me.
“Hate, hate hate,” she said in the angriest voice she could muster for a frail little women on her deathbed. I knew it was directed towards me – she was very frustrated about things and she didn’t like the answers she got from the people caring for her (and me) a day prior.
In the few months that have passed since her death, I have learned that society is not tolerant with people in mourning – they hate how I react when I get the in your face memories or flashbacks or whatever you want to call them.
I hate having to hold back tears in front of people, even my husband, whom I expected to be more understanding than he seems to be.
I hate that I realized everything about my mother – how much she really loved me, how important I was to her – too late.
“Hate, hate, hate.” I sure hope she didn’t leave this world hating me. That was the last thing I would have wanted.
I hate being alone – with no close relatives to understand – to hug me – to become my pseudo- Mom, a confidant in times of pain and hurt.
Hate is a strong emotion.
I hate hate.

Secrets and Lies

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When was I really born?

Number one, most important.

Secrets from the time I was learning to walk. Staring at the pattern In the carpet. Memorized.

So important, most important.

I memorize other patterns in ceilngs, floors, bedding… Born again hell fire and proclaimations in foreign tongue.

So imortant, so perfect. I too will be saved and I will be so important.

Can’t cut the cord, no.  Number One, my most important.

Failed relationships, no social skills. Damaged goods.

But oh so important, the baby. The cord will never be cut.

Me in a relationship, a normal one? Don’t know how. Me, have friends? No.
Her number one. Her most important.

Ruined life.

Rescue? Protect? Save me please. Even animals – lower life forms protect their number one, their most important.

Selfish, selfish person. Most important? Look in the mirror – go ahead.

I can’t.

Your number one? No way. Not ever.

Secrets most important. Lies conveniently forgotten. Who is number one?

Ruined, sad and pathetic life. Psychic pain, eating away at my mind, my body.

All because you were the one that was most important, number one.

Continue to lie to yourself, number one, most important.

Your actions created my destiny. And yours. Pleased with how that turned out?
45 years of lies to yourself. To others.

Sever the cord. Walk away, most important number one.

I will do what you should have done, or what any animal would have done.

Go see yourself in your self-imposed destiny of guilt.

I will keep myself safe, warm, clean and undamaged.To me, myself, most important, number one.

For real. Not a lie. Not any more.