My Selfish Self

Chapter Seven

        The day we broke ground on the house was such an amazing moment for me. I’d worked really hard and had saved my money and was excited and proud of this day because despite having this anxiety disorder, I’d been able to work as a volunteer!  I felt human again.  There to celebrate with me where some of the people, who mean the world to me, happy for my achievement.
      This was the opportunity I’d been striving toward for almost three years.  I had later found I was wrong about some of those people though. Family, friends and acquaintances, I was so grateful to be thought of that day. Even my sister was there!  Knowing how upset she had been, I was so thankful she came to support me too! I had only wished that this didn’t make her so sad. After the event my sister offered to take the kids for an overnight, I of course agreed. 
        I noticed she was a bit short tempered but, it was the hottest day in history, and we were all a bit cranky. I didn’t give it a second thought. Just knowing and allowing myself to understand that this house I’d worked hard for was hurting her deeply.
The bottom all fell out when the children had come to me, in an upset. The kids expressed their sadness, about a conversation they’d had with their mother. It had left them feeling selfish, nervous and feeling ashamed for being happy. She had yelled at them for talking about the house and accused them of not loving her. That had me reaching for the phone! I’d sent her a message about not ever being allowed to try to emotionally hijack her kids again. Whelp, hello! I was hit with the bombardment of messages explaining of my siblings’ true interest. That I give her children back to her immediately.  And my heart sank at the thought. 
        Every moment, every smile, every struggle and every accomplishment. Every hug and prayer and cuddle ran like a movie reel in my mind. I responded with what was in my heart. That it’s not that easy, and that I love them very much. After the hurtful blaming response, I followed up with my answer in anger and so on. Leading to her hanging up on me. Just as swiftly, one of the kid’s cellphone then started ringing.  I knew what was happening and what was going to be discussed. I just remained near the kitchen numb, unseen while the boys had been in the living room oblivious that I had been listening to them as they deciphered the information being asked.  To return home to their mom. I know I’m supposed to have been relieved when the boys had said no, but I knew how much it hurt them to say something so profound knowing it was painful for the other person as well. Only thing I could hear was 3 hearts breaking, and mine breaking for them.
        They were visibly upset when I approached them afterward. So, we went and sat on the porch and talked about how they felt and why.
      Not long into our talk I received yet another call telling me that my sister now needed to see their faces to tell her directly, so she knew that’s what they truly wanted.  My mother in the background, stating she would be attending as well to be a mediator, also mentioning her beliefs that the children needed protection from myself. Anger.
The meeting started with my mother walking in the door and verbally projecting her upset in the form of disgust and contempt at the audacity that they had hurt their own parent’s feelings. 6 long hours of verbal aggressiveness before the ordeal concluded.  A total of 45 minutes of verbally abusive and emotional attacks on the 2 children that were unfortunately subjected to this trauma, and a further 2 hours for my own enlightenment about what my mother thought of me.
         I watched as she depicted my worthlessness while looking back at me with clear disgust. My presence plagued her, she sneered, as she vilified me about how lazy I’d been. Sleeping too much after the loss of my child had been offensive and attention seeking. She had implied that I was abusive and finally that I was essentially a failure in all things. Her last comment made to me had been that she was done with me for good.
       I looked on as she visibly shook with restraint from wanting to lash out physically and  having to make do with just trying to slash me with her words.
       I saw her eyes as they looked at me, empty, no emotions beyond contempt and anger. I believe that was the last moment I saw her as my mom.  She went on, assuring me how everyone agreed with her, and that the family had been questioning my mental stability.  
       I was dumbfounded by that one, I hadn’t heard from anyone, why would someone just decide on a whim about a person’s state of mental health? such a bold statement and yet I couldn't know if it wasn’t a lie.  Listening to all the things, thought of me by my mom that night. Some of which had been so foreign but other things very familiar in composition. It was as if I could picture a leather-bound book with worn pages written exactly as my mother was declaring it now.
   She'd said it as if read from its bound dialects of a novel I'd bound and dog-eared  the parts of me that cause a pause in my own mind... Except that it wasn’t a book of publication but of the pages trapped inside my soul. Scribbled in it, everything, I’ve always had a fear of becoming. Every bad thought, every nightmare, every fear I’d ever had of me, was right there in front of me in caporal form, like id wished it into life. Verbiage spewed at me that hit like arctic ice but scorched like fire aimed direct and had harmful objectives.
      Someone who I no longer knew was desperately trying to slay my spirit with secrets of self-doubt from that amphitheater I’d swore was but a dream. This someone who had not, once taken a moment to look in on me in months, or even talk to me had such an assuredness of this monstrous being that was me, but not in her own eyes. For in mine she had her seeing her own fears brought to life as well.
      Two strangers looking onward at each other, at our most dreaded self-images and being so convinced of the blackness of what we saw, had severed us from our bonds and traded our guilt, that conveyed 2 very crucial knew knowledge’s.   First being that the trade was for keeps and it would be blames final resting ground. The second being awareness that we would never be more than a passing glance, a polite nod and the keeper of one another’s sacred darkness. I’m not certain that she had felt the exchange, but I knew she had noticed that I’d become resigned and agreeable. Allowing her to smear my name over the bloody impression’s of her hatred to be further used to appear as if  wounded from my supposed feigned attacks.
After that ordeal, it was safe to say we were all a bit emotional.
        Doing what I could at, almost 1 AM in the morning, to calm the two very upset boys. I gathered up some sticks, put them in the fire pit and sat in silence while we made smores.  Following that, I put on a movie for them.  I slipped away and cried as quietly as possible in the washroom, till daylight broke the spell.