Coming of Age and Perception
Who abuses whom?
When I was 9 and watched him beat mom’s ear in, I knew he was abusing her.
I also knew it wasn’t a good thing for me to see, so he was doing harm to myself and my baby brother too.
Then as I got older I started to think, what sort of parent would allow their child to live in danger?
I started to recognize, 18-years later that the women I trusted the most in my whole life, my own mother, was abusive in her neglect.
Now at 30, I wonder am I being abusive because I finally resent her now? These days I don’t talk to her by choice. And when I do I hate it and I am sure it comes out that way. Maybe I’m not abusive – maybe resentment is fair. She never tries to make anything right, not even today. The more I realize the true issue – the more she refuses to dish with it.
But here’s the real kicker – 20-years later I realizes that abuse comes from very different sick mind sets. So he would abuse us because he had no rational based reality. He was slightly schizo paranoid and probably had some dementia. I still hate him and wish death on him.
She wasn’t directly abusive. She just left us, her children, in the path of destruction and rationalized the situation with some pretty piss poor excuses. She still behaves this way today. I can’t figure her out. Is she fucking retarded? She forgets everything. EVERYTHING.
She let me down in my life but I told her, “You were a great mom but if you let my brother down as he comes of age, I’ll never forgive you. So put him in school and quit letting him run wild.” I told this to her… at least 8-years ago. Well she never did correct my wild brother and now he’s 21 with two DUI’s already under his belt. What future does he have? The abusive father is gone but she still found ways to let her children down.
We didn’t need the abusive man present to beat us. She lets us kill ourselves, asks why we resent her later, we tell her, and she forgets, get’s defensive and asks again – after she find another way to fuck us.
Fucking mother. Fucking. Mother.
