Continued:

I don’t remember ever arguing with my mother.. I wouldn’t dare. I tried to explain myself many times, to create a moment of understanding between her and me.. oh, what a beautiful meeting-of-the-minds that would have been, a place to rest, a place to settle and take a deep, slow, much needed breath in. And out.

I didn’t argue, but she argued against my sincere explanations, accusing me of lying and making things up and trying to hurt her feelings. There was not to be an understanding between her and me, not a single Yes, we Understand each other moment.

I looked for the truth, I highly valued the truth; she didn’t. She cared about winning her arguments against me, and whatever it took to Win, that is, to Crush me.. that’s what she said. Whatever it took to hurt me, she said it. Truth was not a consideration.

It’s not that she purposefully misstated the truth, it’s that she didn’t care if she did or not. Truth vs Lie was not an issue for her. She simply said whatever it took for her to come up at the top, and me- at the bottom.

Submission of me, was the name of her game. Truth irrelevant.

I noticed I typed above “my mother”, not that person, not mother-monster, just.. my mother. For the child within-me, I must confess, she’ll always be my mother, simply because there was no other.. mother. She was the only one there.

Her legacy in my mind is that look in her eyes I remember seeing the last time I saw her in-person, that look that sends the strongest message: you (anita), you are a bad, bad, bad person!

Is this message true, was it true? It’s been my concern (is it true?). Not her concern. Her concern was to Win. For her to win, I had to Lose. (It’s an instinctual thing, not an ethical thing)

anita