Its been almost a year, but something pushed me to write again.
The other night I was broken. Deep, deep inside in a place I almost didnt know existed.
I refused to be "good" or "conscientious" as I told my mother exactly how I thought and felt about her. I used words and situations that I would know hurt her, and I threw in a spicing of bad words to horrify her. I literally didnt (and dont) care how she feels or what she will do about it.
What happened?
I brought a situation to her attention that had to do with her life, something she had been a part of before she was married. I asked her to look at the situation and to respond with human decency and added an article written by a religious person with thick biblical language.
Her response, in part, was that "(Jesus') words could go either way."
To recap, I sent her a very serious concern with a very biblical argument, and she posted one bible verse contradicting everything and declared that there was more than one way to interpret the Bible and she was going to choose her own interpretation, the facts be dammed.
I broke inside.
All my life there was ONE way, ONE interpretation, ONE right, and EVERYTHING else was wrong. It was black unless it could be proven white without a shadow of a doubt. There was no room for interpretation. "Train the women to be wives" meant that I couldn't go to college and had to get married in order to fulfill my one life calling, that of my uterus. "Honor thy father" meant that we had to obey everything, immediately, without question, and that our parents had the right to beat us, take from us, and otherwise mentally abuse and maim us as their "duty."
There was no wiggle room. People who allowed interpretation were decried as "worldly" or "compromising" or "allowing sin into their lives," allowing it to make them less than 'I AM NOT ASHAMED OF THE GOSPEL.'
Maybe my mother thought that because I had been gone from home for over 5 years has made me forget the first 20 of my life with her. Maybe she thinks I have forgiven the pain and torment I have lived through from their dedication to Pearl and Phillips and Gothard over human decency to their children. Maybe she still doesn't know that before I was a teenager she had made me so angry and hurt that I vowed to not cry at her funeral and to be happy when it happened. Maybe she doesn't know how many times putting a knife in her back occurred to me when she was berating me in the kitchen for something as simple as not scrubbing behind the sink and letting a light mold grow. Maybe she never realized that I developed my sarcastic sense of humor that she so hated to deal with the fact that I had to tell myself I was a hired maid and not a family member in order to get through my late teens. Maybe she forgot how strained out relationship was all my life with her, and maybe she doesn't think I KNOW WHY she treated me the way she did. Maybe she didnt think I was smart enough to see her putting her frustrations with her husband onto the oldest child that looked, sounded, and acted like him. I may have been female, but I was his and his mother's spitting image and still could be.
Maybe she was literally not thinking and said something she didnt think through, but that is not my mother.
I mentioned the insanity of her phraseology to her, and she STOOD BY IT.
I broke. I lost all the common courtesy that holds in a lifetime of hurt and spiteful treatment and let her have it. I cursed her blind obedience to a tyrant, for being a willing doormat, I blamed her for her refusal to leave because I know exactly what that felt like and the strength it took. I accused her of being duplicitous all throughout my life if she really believed different than the patriarch she bowed to, and I blamed her for allowing us to be brainwashed by him through her. I threw hurtful things in her past at her face, adding scripture references and asking if there was more than one interpretation for them.
I still feel that empty pit contort inside as I shake my head at my brutal honesty, but I dont regret it.
I have spent 5 years trying to give her the benefit of the doubt.
I have spent 5 years trying to see her as a victim too.
I have spent more than 5 years trying to forgive her for her mistakes.
But this "mistake" is too big to let go or gloss over or forgive in the common sense.
Everything she ever says to me from now on, those words will echo after them. I can no longer take anything she says at face value. I dont know why this one little sentence is what did it, but she said it and she stood by it when I pointed it out to her.
I have been angry at my parents before, but I have never felt like this. I wasnt taught to name emotions, but this screaming-sobbing-heap that I am inside feels similar enough to anger, I guess. I am done with her, I regret asking for her assistance or getting favors. I will pay all my debts and cut off all future ties.
I will call the house phone to speak with my siblings or the oldest's cellphone. I will not cry of grief when she dies and I will be glad.
What I knew inside, innately, as a preteen still holds true, whatever it was.
I guess she should be fine with all this though, cause it could go both ways.
