Refraction.

For My Mother.

It was neither the first time that I told you how I felt,
Much the same as how
It was neither the first nor last time that you invalidated me.
You know that I'm depressed - you took me to that stagnant
CAMHS waiting room so many times,
And you read the letters that the doctor sent...
I just want to know why you treat my sadness as an inconvenience.
I've tried to ask before, but you reply defensively:
"What do you want me to do about it?"
Is what you say, but I remember that time, in A&E, when you said
"If you're sad, you can come to me."
I know that it must be difficult to navigate,
But you'd rather be looking at Facebook than listening
When I talk to you. I spent so long lost beneath
Your "not now"s and "I'm busy"s when you were just
Watching TV, and it's taken so long for me to realise
That the problem was never me.
You know how I've been raised, how your husband - my father -
Thinks it's acceptable to behave.
I could say so much more about him, but today I am writing to you.
He was a bully, yes, but you made excuses on his behalf
And told me (a child) that I just needed to ignore the grown man
Who was getting a kick out of putting me down.
You never even pretended to like him, and you argued like anything,
But never on my behalf. You stood and watched
For all those years, and nothing seems to have changed.
Truthfully, I still don't understand -
How could you have just looked on whilst he broke me?
There were so many things you could have done,
But you never even told me that I wasn't the things he said I was;
That I wasn't lazy and worthless, that I hadn't ruined his life,
That I was innocent. I was just a child, Mother -
A child who never got the chance to be young and carefree.
I'm trying to forgive you,
Because I know that things haven't been easy for you either,
And yet it's taken me all of these years to pick up the pieces;
To start believing that I am more than just collateral damage.
I wonder whether you believe it too,
But I know better than to let you influence me -
The cries of your own child wouldn't influence you to step up,
And yet your husband never laid a hand on you.
I have never needed you. I had to learn not to, just to get by,
And yet I still find myself making time for you when you demand it.
Sometimes the wounded child within considers telling you that I'm busy,
Savouring the ability to repeat your catchphrase of "not now",
But I can't bring myself to behave that way.
I have learned because of - not from - you that I don't want to be cold;
I don't want to look on as people struggle;
I will not stop caring, ever. I will care about anyone and everyone,
Irrespective of whether it's awkward, impractical or downright difficult.
Mother, I will not be like you. I will take blame where blame is due,
And I will forever stand up for anyone who needs me,
Never ignoring the muffled cries of a frightened child.