A Mother's Love

Today is the 2 year anniversary of my mom's death, I wrote this as a message to her.

A Mother's Love

She was so young, only seventeen
tears of pain streamed down her face.
Her breaths were deep and labored
while her flesh tore and bled.

A few years later the insidious two's
would drive most to patience end.
Her loving heart, ever so forgiving
chased me around to keep me safe.

Return To Therapy - And A Memory Of A Bad Day

Sometimes things don't seem real. It feels like my life is a dream that I am unable to awake from. A dream that is keeping me trapped and held prisoner in my own angry, painful, tearful, and never ending sludge of a memory. I am really scared and I have no idea what I should do to feel better. I have tried everything but nothing works.

I started seeing my therapist again on Thursday. Although I know that she isn't judging me in a negative way because I stopped seeing her for 4 weeks, I still feel like she sees me as a failure. Of course I am smart enough to know that it isn't her that sees me that way, it is me. The way I am feeling is the epitome of a double standard in that I would never think that another survivor is a failure if they were in my exact shoes. So why do I KNOWINGLY judge myself so egregiously incorrect? If someone who was in my shoes told me that they feel like a failure I would tell them that there is so much empirical proof that shows them to be an amazing success, but when it comes to telling myself the same things I REFUSE to accept it.

My Earliest Memory Of My Mom

As I sit watching Rachel Ray I was feeling the urge to write. My first thought was to write more about what happened to me. There is so much that happened to me that I haven't even begun to think about writing about, but the last few posts I have made had been sort of on the sad side. Instead I want to share some of my memories of my mom. In this particular post I want to share my earliest memory. I think it might be a fitting way to celebrate her.

I'm unsure how young I was but I'm thinking I was 2 or 3 years old. I was drawing a picture on some paper with crayons. I was either drawing a picture of my mom's head and hair or a bush, I don't remember but I do have a very vague memory of a roundish ovalish shape that may have had eyes. It could have been a drawing of the bushes or maybe mom's tomato plants. It hard to say. I remember mom being there on the floor next to me. She was wearing blue clothes, I don't know if it was a dress, pants, or whatever. She was drinking something out of a cup and I wanted some of whatever she was drinking. I don't know if I asked for some or pointed at her cup, I really can't remember. I remember mom pouring some of the contents out of her cup into one of my sippy cups. I took a drink out of it, but I can't remember what it was or what it tasted like. I remember mom looking at me and laughing and the feeling of her hand as she wiped my chin.

I also remember her wrapping a gift. I think it was the same day and very near the same time as the sippy cup memory. It seemed like she spent forever wrapping this gift. I remember the wrapping paper was white. It seemed like she wrapped it, then unwrapped it, and wrapped it again. The memory is very vague.

Many years later when I reached the age where mom needed to sit me down and explain that I wasn't dying because I was bleeding, the whole ovulation deal. We had a long talk and we reminisced about the past, growing up, becoming a woman, and me as a baby. She bragged to me about how cute of a baby I was and the pride and love she felt when she felt me kick in her belly the first time. Somehow we got into the conversation of early childhood memories. I told her about my memory of the sippy cup. She couldn't remember that incident specifically, but she said that I use to make funny faces whenever I would drink some of her tea. I imagine that my memory of the sippy cup and mom laughing was probably because it was her unsweetened tea that she put in my sippy cup. No wonder she laughed, I had to have made a funny face.

I also asked mom about the wrapping paper but my memory was too vague and she couldn't recall what I was talking about.

This is just a few memories of my mom that I can always hold onto. I would love to talk about these memories with my mom again. I miss her more than I can begin to describe.

Anyway, this was my earliest memory of my mom.

My Mom

For the past month since I was raped I have been thinking about a lot of different things. There's a few things that's never far from my mind. The number one thing is what happened to me, but the other biggest thing is my mother. Some of you know that my mother is no longer alive, some of you may not. Either way I want to tell you about her and explain beyond the obvious why I miss her so much and why she's no longer with us.

My was born and raised in Alabama, USA. She was only 18 years old when I was born and when she married my father who was only 17. Still with her and my father being so young they still managed to raise me the right way in my humble opinion.

I miss my mom and I need her so much right now to understand and comfort me, but she's not here. My dad and others tell me that she is here with us, but I know it is just a statement used in an attempt to make me feel better. I have never told anyone this before, but there is times I talk to her just like she is here. I speak to her as if she is taking part in the conversation. I don't really hear her talk back to me, but I do imagine what her words would be. Ever since I was raped I have tried to have several conversations with her but I don't hear her because I don't know what she would be telling me. I have no idea what she would say to me, but I know it would make things not hurt so bad. If she was here she would wrap her arms around me to make me feel safe and tell me something, anything to make me feel better. 

It's not fair that my mom is no longer here. It's not fair that she had to leave me and my family. It's not fair that I was hurt so badly by an evil person and I don't even have my mom to lean on.