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01 March, 2006 - 12:47 a.m.
from monday, part three.

i was just thinking about all the things my mother never knew about my life, simply because she's not adult enough to handle it. and i've known that since high school.

my mom never knew about the fibroid tumor i had removed from my uterus my first semester of grad school.

my mom never knew about my rape and subsequent miscarriage my freshman year of college.

my mom never knew about any pregnancy scare or thoughts of marriage that i may have harbored in the past.

my mom doesn't know my political affiliation/ideology.

she doesn't know why i counsel, or why this is what i've always wanted to do.

she doesn't know what my exact psychological diagnoses are, but you do. Generalized anxiety disorder and major depression (but it's also been called bipolar, too, so they need to make up their minds).

she doesn't know what the counselor told my grandmother and godmother when i was small, nor has she cared enough to find out, though she knows that i went. "they've stolen her childhood," is what she told them.

my mother doesn't know how well i see patterns, that i see that she's repeating the cycle of not caring about her kids while bemoaning the fact that her mother did the same.

she doesn't know that i've dated black men, and she hated the latino that i dated. and it's not just my sister who dates outside her race.

my mom doesn't know that i gave my sister the sex talk when she hit puberty, and gave her condoms when i found out she was having sex. because it's better to be safe than to be sorry (i.e. pregnant or with an STD).

my mom doesn't know that my sister calls me up to ask me for guidance. and has admitted she only skips school to try to get attention from mom. and has told me that she can talk to me about anything, because i don't make her feel bad for her feelings.

my mother doesn't know that i've attempted suicide. three times in high school and twice in college.

my mother doesn't know anything about how i work in the world, my spiritual views, my philosophy on life, how i attain inner peace.

she doesn't know about my modesty, that it's hard for me to talk about the good qualities i've developed. but that i can find a million negative things to point out about myself.

my mother has no idea how much i give of myself to the world. or that i think that people who are afraid to give of themselves to others are afraid that they will have nothing left for themselves... but that i know that there will always be something (it replenishes itself).

my mother will never know the joys of writing, blogging, diarying, of introspection, because she's too afraid to look inside herself for fear of what she might find.

my mother will never know the pain she's brought me through the years of calling me cold and heartless, because she couldn't make me cry. or because i hate weddings. or because i don't particularly like children all that much. or because i don't always let her get her way.

my mother will never know the truth of my existence. who i really am. that i really am a good person, or that i try to be. that i'm not christian. that my strength comes from within, not from her. that she can't take it away from me, though she can take the wind out of my sails for a bit.

and i feel sorry for her. but you can't change people. they have to change themselves.

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