I was very mean to my mom
Growing up I gave my mom tons of shit. I was mean. I would push and push and make her cry. At times I was viscous. I really think I did it on purpose. I really think that sometimes I would try to see how quickly I could make her shout or scream.
During her biggest outburst (I can't believe I am calling it her outburst, when I pushed her to it) she beat the vacuum cleaner with the nozzle of the vacuum cleaner. She shouted "Why do you keep doing this to me? Why do you make me so angry?" This time I was scared. She had never acted out phsyically, she broke the vacuum.
I did stop being an evil brat. An eighth grade english teacher telling a story about her own life made me realize that life did not have to be so difficult. I was making life difficult. For myself, my brother and sister and especially my mother.
Why was I so mean?
Maybe because I was being bused at the time (middle school).
I was force bused to a very difficult situation (tons of blog content in this story) and did not have any control over it. Very bottom of the barrel, lowest point on the shit rolling downhill mountain situation. Perhaps the only way to release my emotion was to be mean. Like a violent game of pass it on.
Maybe it was because I blamed her for not knowing my biological father (again tons of blog to come).
I don't know if I actually knew that at the time. But I knew something was missing, something wasn't right. And I suppose I blamed her.
It was a mixture of both reasons. She sent me back to that school EVERY day. She kept the truth about my dad from me.
I am sad with a hint of anger. But mostly sad.
I have not yet been able to bring this up with my mother. I want to apologize and try to explain my behavior, try to understand my behavior. (Here come the excuses) But she lives hours away. Every time I visit it just doesn't seem like the right time. Why would I want to bring up something so unpleasant? If I call ahead and annouce my desire to discuss the past I will build such an expectation that I don't know if I could go.
My past is really messy, can I possibly clean it all up?
During her biggest outburst (I can't believe I am calling it her outburst, when I pushed her to it) she beat the vacuum cleaner with the nozzle of the vacuum cleaner. She shouted "Why do you keep doing this to me? Why do you make me so angry?" This time I was scared. She had never acted out phsyically, she broke the vacuum.
I did stop being an evil brat. An eighth grade english teacher telling a story about her own life made me realize that life did not have to be so difficult. I was making life difficult. For myself, my brother and sister and especially my mother.
Why was I so mean?
Maybe because I was being bused at the time (middle school).
I was force bused to a very difficult situation (tons of blog content in this story) and did not have any control over it. Very bottom of the barrel, lowest point on the shit rolling downhill mountain situation. Perhaps the only way to release my emotion was to be mean. Like a violent game of pass it on.
Maybe it was because I blamed her for not knowing my biological father (again tons of blog to come).
I don't know if I actually knew that at the time. But I knew something was missing, something wasn't right. And I suppose I blamed her.
It was a mixture of both reasons. She sent me back to that school EVERY day. She kept the truth about my dad from me.
I am sad with a hint of anger. But mostly sad.
I have not yet been able to bring this up with my mother. I want to apologize and try to explain my behavior, try to understand my behavior. (Here come the excuses) But she lives hours away. Every time I visit it just doesn't seem like the right time. Why would I want to bring up something so unpleasant? If I call ahead and annouce my desire to discuss the past I will build such an expectation that I don't know if I could go.
My past is really messy, can I possibly clean it all up?
posted by Vincent at 9:35 PM
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