My survival helps my mother
Saturday, June 12, 2010 at 7:44AM 
Photo courtesy of Erin PurcellOn Friday I talked to my mother, for two hours. I stayed at work, late, when she called. She was out of breath, telling me family news. Her mother hit her again. Her niece's boyfriend threatened to kill her. Her father's apartment has been wrecked - no floor, no furniture left, traces of drugs being cooked, blood on the wall. A prostitute was killed there. Her sister (my aunt) used it for a brothel - to make some money to survive. As I listened to her, I realized how fantastic these stories have seemed to me in the past, when my father was telling me every day that my mother was crazy. I know how real they are, and I know how fantastical my own story seems to people - and how hard it is for them to believe it - just as hard as it was for me to believe my mother. Until now. Now I know that everything she says is true, after traveling to Moscow and seeing for the first time what my true family was made of.
I listened to her wish for her mother (my grandmother) to love her. She would spend the little money that she had going to her apartment (where I grew up), feeding her, while she herself didn't have enough to eat. Until her mother was strong enough - to beat her up again. My mom would still come back, bring food for them both (her mother and father), until her father came out to beat her, and when she resisted him, her mother spilled boiling water on her arms. I told my mom - stop going there. Let them whither and die of huger, if they must. Your mother will NEVER love you - she never did, she never will - no matter what you do. Your father will NEVER love you - he never did, never will. She said yeah, I stopped going for the last two months, like you suggested last time, and I felt better. I said yeah, I know know how it feels like - I have been chasing you too, for love, until I realized that unless you come back yourself - I will never find your love. Then I stopped. Then I found you, to see you one last time. Then you appeared in my life like never before, after I forgave you for never being there. She said, but I never hated you! I said, but you were never there. She said yeah, I know. I'm sorry, I love you very much. We fell silent.
I listened to my mother's account of her stubbornness. She was beaten by both her mother and her father, since when she was little. They would grab her hair and beat her head on the floor, until they would be exhausted. Until it was quiet. Then my mom would say to her mother - you're still a bitch. I hate you. And the beating would start again. My mother said, laughing, I was so stubborn! Why did I have to call her that name? To repeat what she was calling me? To have her beat me again? I said, you were stubborn because it was your power over her - I know, I've been there. I've been quiet no matter how much pain was inflicted on me - to have power. We fell quiet again. She said, you're right.
I listened to her ridiculing her behavior in relationship to her step-father (my step-grandfather who molested me). She said, I provoked him! When my mom married him, he would lie in the room, on the bed, drunk, in his underwear. If I looked into the room, he would shake hi legs, jump up, shake his butt and touch his crotch, and try to advance on me. I ran away from home. I provoked him by looking into the room! I said, mom, you didn't do anything, the guy as a pervert, the guy didn't care whether you entered the room or not, all he wanted was a piece of a woman - to have sex with. He didn't care who she was - he made me masturbate him, he made my sister - your other daughter - masturbate him. My mom yelled - don't tell me that, I don't want to hear it! I said it's the truth, you can hang up the phone and never call me again, if you don't want to hear it. She fell quiet. Yeah, she said, you're right. He was a pervert. I said, remember, you didn't provoke him.
I listened to my mom asking questions, the same questions that I have been asking since last year, since when I remembered what my family did to me. She said - but why? Why did my own mother beat me so hard? Why did my father beat me with her? Because they hated me? I said, no, it goes deeper. Because they themselves have been beaten severely when they were kids, because they carried so much emotional pain inside, that the only relief from it was to inflict pain on someone who looked like them, as if to see themselves in the mirror, to see how they suffered, to agknowledge it - in those moments, their pain would let them go. The worst of it is - these people don't know that that's what is happening, they are like drug addicts - they don't know the mechanics of the drug making their brain high, they only know they they want more, more of the drug. Do you understand it? Didn't you also pushed me away, when you came home, or spilled soup on my head, when I wouldn't eat - to see the pain on my face? She said, don't tell me this, you said enough! I loved you! I didn't know this was happening to you! I said, mom, but do I get what I'm telling you? She finally fell quiet again, she said - yeah. She said, fascinating. You're right.
We talked for two hours - all the time I waited for one bus, rode the bus, then led my bike to another bus stop, phone in the pocket, then hopped on the second bus, then slowly walked my bike home. I said, mom, I'm home, I will go to bed now. Mom said, thank you, my little one. I love you so much, my little bunny, my baby. My heart sang as I hung up the phone.
Reader Comments (3)
It is hard to read this and I know how hard it can be for you to say it, to admit it to yourself that this really happened to you. I also know how freeing it can be for you to say it. I am an incest survivor and I write about my own experiences as an incest survivor on my blog. I am glad that I found you on Twitter.
This was very hard for me to read...but I read with strong interest. My mother is in denial...about my past, about hers I believe. However, as I read I silently cheered only a little. Although I wish for my mother to let me tell her these things she did to me directly and the things she did indirectly by ignoring what she knew was going on...I have no strong desire to help her survive. Once I became an adult, I was unaware of our codependence on each other and that has been my biggest struggle. Although I wish for her to hear me and to validate me and to even apologize...am I bad for not being too concerned with her recovery? I cannot let her lean on me anymore...I already almost feel as if I was actually conceived for that purpose :(
Wendi, same goes for me. I reconnected with my mother, but she calls me and sometimes only talks about her stuff, and I can't even squeeze a word in - she still leans on me, and I started cutting her off - I said, mom, I am tired, I want to go to bed. She calls me because she doesn't have a single caring person in her world, and suddenly she has me. I understand where she is coming from, I was the same - I would talk to anyone who would listen. But she has to find her own path to recovery, and I have to heal to be able to help her - if I want to. I am not feeling guilty for not wanting, and neither should you. She cold never lean on you - you should have been able to lean on her, but you couldn't. It w her job to be your mother, not vice versa. So please don't feel bad. I hope this helps...