It hurts walking in on her, listening, hearing her mutter to about the incompleteness of my work to her mother, how terrible of a child I am. Even slurs to my siblings stung.
I had just returned home from school, plopped myself on the couch. Before I could turn on the TV I heard my mothers wail. She whined on about how her life was in peril and her children had no love for her.
I reeled at that. I didn't understand how could her hurting me make me understand how much it hurts to be her? In an attempt to avoid confrontation I shot up from the couch and stalked to the door, slamming it with an intent to be heard.
The door opened as I was making my escape. "Charity?" My mother called after me. "Were you listening?...." She paused and I hoped to hear words of comfort or even regret. But that was not her intent.
Anger and spite layered her voice "Good. I'm glad you heard. You're hurt, maybe by hurting you then you can understand and feel my pain"
I paced out to the field and simply walked, not really with any direction. I trudged along with my dog at my heels.
Jazzy, short for Jasmine, was a happy go lucky German Shepard with sleek black fur and a goofy smile. Though she was small for her breed she was never shy. It was a comfort to have her with me. It helped me cope with the anger.
Its funny how in school we hear over and over again that bullies tend to be bullies because they were hurt and for that reason they hurt other people. Then by logic my mother was declaring herself a bully. I love her-I just, I didn't understand why she could only see how things affected her. Why would any mother want to hurt her child because of their own pain? Wouldn't she want to protect her child from that?
All of my actions don't necessarily constitute me thinking about how I could hurt her or how I can help her, she simply isn't the center of my universe. She's a part of it yes, but not the center. It's different for her, she thinks that anything anyone does is meant to affect her in some way. She is the victim. She's always been the victim. I wonder what it's like always being the victim. Does that mean that you're always the hero in your story; that must be why she can never accept that she has faults without justifying her mistake with someone else's transgression (whether or not the transgression has yet to be committed).
No, she was no mother. Simply a warden, she is the "overlord" of her house.
YOU ARE READING
Memiors From Beneath
Historical FictionThese are little bits of my life I chose to write like a story. They are some pieces from the darkest and lightest highlights of my experiences. Some may seem trivial to others or possibly beautiful. If you don't like them, sounds like a you problem.
