Realizations-About My Mother Part 1

I just came to the realization/acceptance that my mom is suffering from mental illness.
Actually I see clearly she is suffering
from mental illness brought about from traumatic physical and emotional abuse from her childhood. She also suffered tremendous loss as a child. She is the youngest of 8. She lost her older sister, her brother right above her, and her younger brother, during her childhood. They all died in accidents involving cars/trucks. Her main issues seem to be not feeling worthy of being alive at all. Her mother didn’t want to have her and told her that she did everything she could do, to get rid of her. My mother was the product of an affair. Both of her parents were highly regarded members of the same church and were married to other people. My mom lived with her dad for the most part but the early years were spent going back and forth between the two households. I imagine she may have felt unloved and that she never really had a place. But she was loved and is loved. I know for sure, for sure, how much my Uncle Michael loved her. Unquestionably, from the time she was born. She relates to others and herself through a prism of unworthiness. Interestingly enough, she is also fiercely proud. She is intelligent, sensitive, loving. Her will is so strong. I admire her in many ways. Family is really very important and valuable to her and at the same time family is a great source of pain for her.

My mother and I have had a very complicated relationship. Recently, I have let go of attachment to her or a relationship with her. It is not possible at this time. She does not accept me for who I am. She cannot accept that I have transitioned from female to male. It is hard for a lot of people, I’m sure. I don’t know what it’s like for them. I only really know my side of it. It wasn’t an easy thing for me to get to this place in my life. The thing is, my life is my life. My body is my body. My biological father and my mother, through and act of love created a physical body for my soul to express itself in physicality. I, the I of me, the eternal me, the Soul and Whole of me, was not made in that act of them coming together. In that spark there was invitation. There was love and joy. A good thing. A Good time. My parents were both 19. It was August of 1977 and they wanted me. They were not married. My mom thought she was in love with him. My dad..well I’ll never know how he really felt about her. When I was younger I thought of myself as a Love Child. A Bastard Love Child and it made me smile and secretly happy. I was born in love and both of them really wanted me. That is one of the things that makes me different. I was born in love and my parents really wanted me.

My dad wanted me because he wanted his own child. He had been a father to two boys who weren’t his biological offspring. Even as a teenager, my dad was super responsible guy. When he met my mom he was a Marine with his own place stationed in Oceanside. The woman that he left behind in Kansas, the love of his life, wouldn’t have a kid with him because she didn’t like his smile. She didn’t want her child/children to have fucked up yellow teeth. My biological father’s side of the family has some sort of thing where we lack enamel which makes our teeth discolored and weak. They decay fast. One of my cousins, during her pregnancies, loses teeth. The babies she carried needed the calcium and her teeth would fall out. My dad lied to my mom. He told her that my teeth wouldn’t be like his. He lied. Apparently, they are not as bad as his but they are plenty fucked up and it’s always been an issue in my life. It affects my self esteem. I want to get them fixed but haven’t been able to. Even when I had insurance from Fed Ex for the 8 years I worked there nothing could be done but general cleaning and a little after care, like cavities filled and a root canal, extractions. I could never have a totally healthy mouth or a beautiful smile because of “a pre-existing” condition. Blah insurance. Blah poverty. Blah society. Blah genetics. I was born this way. For me to have a pretty white smile I’d have to have medical intervention. What they call it is cosmetic dental surgery. Um..getting back to the point..my dad wanted a child of his own and my mom..

My mom told me she dreamed about me from the time she was little. She wanted to name me LaNea (la nay). She told me that she had me because she wanted someone to love her. I do love her. I have always loved her but she has never been able to receive all my love nor has she been able to accept the way that I love. She has never fully accepted that I am not HERS! I do not belong to anyone. I am not an object. I am no one’s possession. I am a sovereign being. I was born (from) love to come to this planet and love. Not to love just one person. From my mom’s perspective, she made something or someone in hopes of being completely loved by this someone. It was/is a very selfish (but understandable) reason to have a baby and much too much pressure and expectation to put on a little baby. What complicates things more is that in my 8th month in utero my mother and father had a fight and she accidentally took his life. She has never been able to forgive herself for it. I have never blamed her for it. It is just too sad of a thing. She feels so bad about it. She says that she can never forgive herself. My dad’s mom forgave her and so did many of his siblings. For me, there was never anything to forgive. It was an unfortunate sad situation. But,I have been blessed with a great dad. He’s been my dad since I was two and he’s the best dad I could hope for. He’s funny and even tempered and easy going and patient and has loved me well and still does. I tell him often how awesome he is and how grateful I am that he’s my dad. My mom raised me and related to me through a filter of fear and guilt mixed with love and neediness and jealousy. She thought I didn’t love her because she was responsible for my father’s death. She thought we weren’t close because of it and because when I was a baby she was in jail (manslaughter). We didn’t have our bonding time. She was only 20 and going through so many horrible terrifying things. I know all this. I have empathy, imagination, and emotionally imprinted memories from that time. I am well aware. I am sensitive too.

I have always wanted my mom to be happy. When I was little, I’d think to myself, “if mom was happy, everything would be okay.” I didn’t want to cause any trouble. I tried to be good and to please her and just not make her life any harder. I repressed a lot of myself to please her and not cause any waves. I did that out of love. I sacrificed my own well being (not consciously) for hers. In my kid mind I didn’t know what was happening. What was wrong. I just knew my mom was angry and unhappy and I wanted to make it better. I also thought that she just didn’t like me. I spent the majority of my childhood just trying to survive. I was afraid a lot of the times and miserable. I just wanted to get away. It was so stressful. Being a kid, being my mom’s kid (that was my main identity) was an absolute nightmare. I felt alone. Abandoned by God. Stuck. I couldn’t fear hell because as far as I could tell I was in it. Of course, it wasn’t all bad all the time. I did have good times. Moments of reprieve. But I was always on alert. I never felt safe or comfortable (or) at home with her. There was always a constant low level stress. When I was away from home, at my Aunt’s for instance, or when my grandmother lived with us, or when we lived with my grandparents, things were a little better for me and a little easier. My life got a lot better when I left the house at age 17. And gets better with every passing year. For me, when I left the house a few months after I turned 17, that marked the beginning of my life. I spent 17 years with my folks and I promised myself 17 years to myself. To heal, to grow/develop into the person that I wanted to be. The person I knew myself to be. 6 months from today, that 17 years will be complete.

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