Saying Goodbye

Just gonna stand there and watch me burn
But that’s alright because I like the way it hurts
Just gonna stand there and hear me cry
But that’s alright because I love the way you lie
I love the way you lie

 

I’m not usually one for rap. its not my thing. yeah, i went through a phase when i was younger, but not since. this new Eminem song, however, i adore. mostly because of the lyrics. it makes me think about the biggest failure of a relationship in my life. the one that a girl should treasure, the one person you should always be able to count on.

My mother.

I can’t remember when my relationship with my mother started to crumble. To be honest, I don’t think it was ever a solid, real, mother-daughter relationship in the first place. If you want to know exactly what I think, read on, because i’m going to write it all out. 

As far as I remember, Jo, my mother, has always loathed my father, Rowan. I don’t know why, or how this translates to me, just that she regards that period of her life she spent with him as one of the biggest mistakes of her life. I never really thought about it. I guess I more chose to ignore it. Until too many things built up and it became just blinding obvious that there wasn’t just resentment in her voice when she spoke of him, but pure, unadulterated Hate.

It took a little while longer for me to realise that I was a part of the biggest mistake of her life. Perhaps her hatred of me was a little less, but as I was the only one who was within her reach, I was the one who felt the constant cut of her forked acid tongue.

If you know me well, you know I’m not a fighter. I can’t argue. Especially with those I love, and care for. So I stand and take whatever venom comes my way. I rarely fight back. Occasionally, I’ll hit back hard- in which case I’ve usually had to consume copious amounts of vodka to summon the courage to do so.
I’ve never been able to understand Jo’s method of building up my confidence one day with praise of certain features that she thinks are worthy, and the next, destroying my confidence with the very things that apparently are my best features.

It does hurt to have your mother consistently bring you down. I’m not going to lie and show what a thick skin I have. It fucking hurts. I’ve sobbed until there have been no tears left. I’ve taken drugs and screamed how much I hated her in a central park in Sydney. I’ve cut myself. I’ve reached the point of suicide. I’ve taken up drinking. I’ve wasted thousands of litres of petrol driving around with my best friend beside me, both of us talking about anything but our mothers, because we know that sometimes, you just need to talk about nothing.

There is no worse feeling than when the person who gave birth to you, tells you what a useless, untalented, disgusting, ungrateful, slobby, horrible person you are. How you’ll never advance in the world. Never be loved. Never be anything, never have anything.

I’ve only been really good at one thing in my life, and that’s cooking. Now I’m a qualified chef, but when you can’t find solid work because the hospitality industry in your area has taken quite a dive, it’s obviously because you’re so shit at you job, right?

I was 18 when my grandmother told me I had ruined, and was ruining, my mother’s life. And I understand that at that time, I wasn’t the best example of a child. I’d lost my licence, couldn’t find a job, and had no real drive to do anything. I get that, I do. But I don’t care who you are- not even in the most heated arguments should you tell someone you’ve ruined their mother’s life.
So for two whole years I stewed upon this, and when you’ve got depression, and serious anxiety issues, you can only imagine how this tore me apart.
As I mentioned- I require copious amounts of alcohol, or drugs, to speak my mind. To really finish an argument.
Perhaps I didn’t chose the best time, but, I did what was right for me at the time, and I can’t regret that.
Christmas eve, 2009, I drank a bottle of vodka, and the added extras, and confronted my grandmother.
In short, I told her to get fucked.

You’d think the issue settled.

Jo didn’t speak about it for a while, but when she did, boy, was I surprised.
I must apologise to my grandmother. I hurt her feelings.

So, not only must I apologise for standing up for my ruinous existence, I must also repent for having hurt her feelings.

No.

I don’t like playing tit-for-tat, but what she said to me, in the state of mind I was in, at the age I was, completely gutted me. I’d never felt so hopelessly pointless. I’d ruined someone’s life. Where do you go from there?

So, No. I didn’t apologise. And I still won’t.

I don’t really know what I expected. Maybe I thought Jo would defend my existence. At least assure me I hadn’t ruined her life. But no, there was no such thing. To this day, she maintains I’m in the wrong.

This is why I moved to Sydney. I was on the brink of driving myself off a cliff. It hasn’t fixed the problem, no, but I’ve been able to clear my head, look forward to waking up in the morning, enjoy eating breakfast, engage in a semblance of normal life.

I’m reaching a point where I don’t dwell on the bad things for more than a ¼ of the day. I can see beauty in things again. I feel happy without the use of drugs, alcohol. I take pride in my work, I’m interested in life. A lot of this is because of my amazing Father, Step-Mother, and best friend, Kristi.

I’m reaching a point where, though I am unable to hate Jo, I can begin to distance my feelings. There’s no love, nor is there hate. There is just complete and utter indifference. If it weren’t for my little half brothers, I’d already have cut all ties. They’re the one remaining link, and they’re the only thing I can’t let go of yet.

I’m going back to Queensland for a week, I’m having my 21st party there- it’s more of a midway point so most of my family can converge. I called Jo, on Saturday, to find out if they were coming to the party. Its the first time we’d spoken since I left, on the 29th of February. And it was completely cold, and empty. They’re coming. I’ll at least get to see my brothers for a few hours. It’s now I’m beginning to realise, it’ll probably be the last time. They’ll never be allowed to visit me in the holidays, because there’s a chance they’ll meet my Father. This is how, 20 years after the fact, her hatred, prejudice and anger is still hurting the people around her.

Why am I writing this now? Why in such a public arena as the interweb? Because i have to get it out of me. Having all of this inside me is like poison, and slowly, I know it’ll seep back around my body. My antidote is to spit it all out. No more poison. Because also, I hope that maybe, just maybe, there’s someone else with a story similar. Maybe, just maybe, they might find this and know that they’re not the only ones.

There’s only so much one person can take before they overcome their instincts and stand up to say ‘I’m not going to be hurt by you anymore’

And this is my final goodbye to that time.
Because I’m not going to be hurt by you anymore.

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