My So-Called Mom

My Mom and I have a uniquely shitty relationship.  Its kind of like an off and on relationship that you would see on a teenage drama show.  Like, I am Angela, and she is Jordan Catalano.  She leads me on, then ignores me when I seek her attention.  I get tired of her dicking me around, and that is when she comes running into my arms begging to have me back.  Then the cycle starts all over.  Let me make something clear, I don’t have sex with my Mom.  This is just an abstract example of the ridiculous nature of how we interact.  It has been going on for as long as I can remember.  We started out hot and heavy when I was born.  I was her #1 girl.  She spoiled me, loved me, enjoyed my company, we were inseparable.  Then my sister was born when I was 8.  My Mom immediately pushed me to the side the way an aging ex-playboy bunny gets replaced as soon as a newer, younger, more firm and busty, and less complicated version of her comes along.  My poor sister has no responsibility for this, but of course she has to deal with the tension and I’m sure she feels awkward about the whole thing.  Despite being ignored suddenly, I tried everything I could to gain her attention, and her affection.  I wrote poems and stories and made paintings for her in school.  Instead of being put up on the fridge, or in a frame, they all ended up in the trash.  ALL. OF. THEM.  When I asked her later in life why she threw them away, she said “oh, you wanted me to keep that?”  I tried to put on talent shows for her with my friends.  I begged her to watch how great I was at diving and swimming, to see if that would win her over.  I tried my best to get good grades for her, even though I am kind of retarded, and when I got mostly all A’s, she seemed to forget how amazing that was a day later.  I got grounded for everything.  I was always in trouble for no good reason. I mean, sure, there was a ton of awesome Mommy/Daughter shit that happened.  But it is so far buried under all the attention seeking, I can hardly remember the good stuff.

After years of psychological fucking-with-me bullshit, as a teenager I gave up.  I decided to run away from the insane relationship and gain some sort of independence and individuality that did not involve being upset about my Mom.  It began with running away emotionally, not physically.  I shut down.  With the help of my loud headphones, my car, my job, my sports, and my friends, I escaped to my own private world.  I did not involve her or seek her advice, guidance, or approval anymore.  I could tell it bugged the shit out of her.  Which was very satisfying, the same way it is satisfying to see your heart-breaking Ex be all pissed that you moved on with someone hotter.  When I decided to go as far away as possible to College, she lost her shit.  She literally went nuts about it.  I remember one night Senior year as I was getting ready to hang out with my friends, she trapped me in her Mercedes and took me for the opposite of a joy-ride.  A misery-ride.  She basically cried, yelled, pleaded, and swerved all over the sleepy Madison, CT streets trying to convince me to re-think my College plans and go to school in NYC rather than Georgia.  With ice firmly hugging my heart, and a stone-cold expression on my face, I just said, “No, Mom.  This is what I am doing.  I am leaving.  I need to leave you.”  Luckily a cop pulled my Mom over right about then, because I think she was capable of committing a murder/suicide using the Mercedes, a nearby tree, and her foot on the gas if things got any more dramatic.  The cop said, “Ma’am, have you been drinking?”  She hadn’t been.  Fluke.  And she just explained to him, crying, that I was going to College in a few months and it was making us emotional.  Us?  Not really.  I was happy as a pig in shit that she was feeling all this pain.  She ravaged my emotions for most of my childhood, so yeah, cry your heart out, you bitch, was all I could think.  I soon left for school, and when I say “left”, I really fucking left.  I never returned her calls, I never thought about her, I was living a new life, I just needed her for money.  I took her money, and peaced out.  It was great.

Fast forward to now, and I need her.  It sucks.  I really need my Mom.  I need her advice, her support, her ear to listen to my troubles.  I need her hugs, I need her to call, I need her letters, I need a fucking Chocolate bunny on Easter with a note that says “Love, Mom”.  I need her.  Because now I am a Mom, and I get how hard things can be.  I get how you can become a psycho, asshole lunatic of a Woman to your children, but still be an actually pretty good Mom.  I recognize all the sacrifices she made for me, and for us, and for my Dad.  I see where her sanity switch was turned off, and I actually sympathize and understand why that happened.  I feel so indebted to her and my Dad for all the money I farted away in College because now I know what it means to actually work hard and earn it.  I want her to want me back like she did when I was 18.  But as of right now, we are back to 8-year-old Tara.  I need my Mom, and she is busy.  I try to impress my Mom, and she is unimpressed.  I need her advice, and she tries her best, but rushes off the phone to bigger and better things.  I know what happened, she had to let go of me when I was being a mega asshole from space.  So that is what she did.  And now that I need her, it seems too late.  But knowing us, this shit will go on till one of us dies.  It is exhausting.  It is stupid.  It is literally an episode from 90210 playing over and over.  This is my Mom and I.

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