My mother is a peculiar person, to say the least. She is capricious and selfish but I like to think that underneath that a very sensitive person hides. Do I love my mother? I like to think so, but deep down I just don’t know.
I remember when I was a child I felt anxious when I needed to separate from my mother, every night she used to sneak away to see her lover and she left me “alone”, crying and feeling lonely. This fear of being abandoned haunt me until this day.
When I was in the kindergarten I used to pretend to be asleep so I could sneak out and see my mother who worked as a secretary in the school. I didn’t get to see my mother the nights and early in the morning, around six am when I woke up to go to school it was my grandmother who gave me breakfast. So desperate to see that my mother was there I used to do everything to see her.
Sometimes at night I woke up crying knowing that my mother wasn’t there, by then I started to sleep with my big sister who hold me tight and kissed me until I went back to sleep.
Later in my life I learned that when I was two my mother left me with my father and never came back, so my father, not knowing what to do, left me with one of his daughters to take care of me while he worked and when I was four he took me to my grandmother’s house and left me there because he did not know any better, like a parcel. Then I “found” my mother again, and my maternal brother and sisters.
It was my mother who told me the truth about child Jesus (the latin american version of Santa Claus) when I was six or seven. She was not the one who provided the gifts but my grandmother.
Growing up I started to notice how my mother stole money from my grandmother, big amounts of cash just disappeared inside the house and were never sawn again. My grandmother had to install a safe box to keep the money safe, but even the safe box was once or twice forced.
Soon I realised that my mother could steal money from anyone, even from me. When I was thirteen I open a bank account, as I was a minor my mother had to sign up the account with me and she had all access to it. One day I went to the bank to deposit my allowance I realised that all my money had gone, vanished, there was nothing left in that bank account. Thus I had my first anxiety attack, I couldn’t breathe, I was sweating, panting, I felt like my heart would explode inside my chest, my head was spinning and the lady on the counter just said “NEXT” as I felt powerless. I storm out crying my heart out and I fainted soon after that, that’s all I remember. My money never felt safe again so I spend it all every time.
I never called her “mom” again, I just called her by her name ever since, and even if it is a pretty name I wouldn’t name a pet like that because I don’t want to honor her in any way.
She never gave me any kind of privacy, if I had a journal she read it, if I had money hidden she somehow find it and steal it, however she has under key even the toilet paper and soap so no one has access to it, only her so when she wasn’t home and you needed toilet paper… well let’s say that you would have to wait for her or try to break in her stack.
When I had my first boyfriend my mother called him “our” boyfriend and she enjoy it to hug him and make him uncomfortable, I was not jealous just embarrassed. She wouldn’t stop even if I asked her to, so my then-boyfriend stop coming to my grandmother’s house very soon.
When I wanted to do my own laundry, my mother just took all my clothes and put it back in the bin to wash it again herself and I just couldn’t help but cry because I had nothing to wear.
Talking to my mother proves to be a waste of time, either she says “ok” and keeps acting or doing the same, or she storms out mad. Funny thing about her: she loves to argue with herself and does this thing with her hands that is very funny and as soon as she realize she’s being watched she starts to sing to cover up her self-arguing. And she is a very bold liar, you can see her doing something and she will later tell you straight to your face that she wasn’t doing it, it’s funny and infuriating at the same level.
Lately she asks me to send her money and when I refuse she becomes very mean to me. Last voice she sent said something like:
You are a … thank you, you are a… well, I asked you money to buy things for the house and you denied it to me
and some other gibberish, funny but hurtful.