Mum
By tarashannon
- 1284 reads
I love my mum. She makes me happy and sad at the same time. The reason she makes me happy is because when I am with her I can see what it is like to have a mum. But the reason she makes me sad is because when I am with her I know that she is not really being my mum. My mum suffers from schizophrenia. I want to help her feel ok, but she won’t take the medication that will help her or get treatment. I’m sure there’s lots of treatments, like family clinics, or something like ‘alcoholics anonymous’ for people who are in the same boat. But I do love my mum.
I’m fascinated by my mum. I like to compare the way we look, and also see our differences. I’ve never met my dad so I try my best to see what’s similar between me and her, and then the stuff that’s missing I know must be from dad’s side.
I’m scared of her sometimes, because I feel like I have to always say the right thing in case I make her angry and she turns nasty. I also worry about her, all the time. Even now. Whenever I have spare time to think I worry about what she is doing right at that moment. Sometimes she sleeps on the streets, even though she has a house and I don't understand. And I try to push the thoughts away and think about something else so that I don’t get upset because I know there is nothing I can do. No matter what she does to me or anyone else, I will never be able to hate her. I tried to hate her once- I didn’t talk to her for two years, but it is like hating yourself. And when you hate someone so strongly you will never be free. I now have three very bad memories of my mum. The most recent I know will stay with me forever and never leave me and I will never be able to talk about it without crying like I feel like doing now just writing this. It was when I turned 17 and had made myself look nice for my birthday. (I was staying with my mum at the time). We were both outside looking at her rabbits when she got talking about my grandparents. I think something must have snapped in her and she was shouting, screaming, telling me things that made me feel bad about myself. I felt like she was just searching for the right thing to hurt me. I had to leave because I suddenly realised that everything I hoped for with my mum was a fantasy, a dream. I couldn’t live with a person who would do that to me, because I was already emotionally messed up and had a lot going on in my life. I think the reasons I wanted to live with her changed when I learned more about her. I initially wanted to get to know her, what it would be like to have lived with a mum. I wanted her to know me and like me, I wanted everything to be alright. But I ended up living with her because I felt that she needed me to protect her from her own thoughts that she gets, and from people outside too. I needed to make sure she ate and bathed and had company and fun. Once I even flushed her heroin down the toilet. I did start to feel like I was being her mum.
I hate birthdays now. I went to my friend’s birthday recently and got very drunk. I ended up crying on the toilet for hours because I thought that is was my birthday all over again. And that is why I decided not to visit my mum again.
But I did learn some things about her that I’m glad I did. I learned that she is a very sweet and kind person. She is better than me at art and as bad as me at maths. She taught me not to take things for granted, and that sometimes simple is best. My mum is like a heliconia flower; something strong which keeps on going, that is strange yet beautiful. Always changing, always different. But mostly, with it’s vibrant and clashing colours and weird shapes, something which warns me to stay away, far away, and never go back again.
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Comments
This is really heart
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Hey, some bad stuff, but
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I'm on a similar journey of
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This is so poignant, you
anipani
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