I have been called nothing less of a hot mess for a few years now and I have been treading water. it’s a mental swishing back and forth through thoughts made of murky, cold water. The one who dislikes me most though is probably my mother.
I have had the job or sorting through my uncle’s things which had been incredibly healing. I found hope in my grandma’s jewelry box but mostly I found pain.
Yesterday, I found myself reading my mom’s will and essentially it’s written that my brother and I shall receive nothing. All of us kids have major issues: schizoaffective personality disorder, conduct disorder, psychosis, depression, anxiety.
In a baby book my mom had written how I, as an infant of 8 months, was showing jealousy toward my brother. This was recorded, written down and defined my life. Firstly, babies don’t get jealous. Secondly, my brother now hates me too.
I’m no saint in any of this and the estrangement with my siblings was because I told my mom about the highlight reel. Various crimes committed by my siblings trying to show her: they aren’t how they think you are.
It didn’t help and only further estranged me from my siblings. They aren’t going to admit dirty secrets and through some pretty extravagant entanglements nothing changed and I was the villain.
I started soothing myself and caring for myself at a young age and would spend so much time alone that the popcorn ceiling is one of my biggest memories popping up again and again dusting my existence like the drywall when it was first set.
When my feelings got bigger and it was harder to soothe, I found that drugs could easily replace the love and affection I so desperately needed at home. I often wondered if I would ever get married when I was younger but I started not to care.
I found a note from my Uncle who really saved me right before he died himself. He had written all the details of treatment and had wrote “150 pills in two weeks.” I can’t even fathom how I’m alive. From 150 pills of fentanyl and that elusive feeling of comfort to zero pills and a disabled soul.
If my mom had doted on me maybe I would be like my sister but she is no better off. Everything I’m proud of in this life I obtained by myself. My parents didn’t fund college and no fucks were given when I graduated.
I might be a hot mess but another way to say that is a dysregulated human who experienced significant neglect as a child leading to extreme isolation as an adult. My mom ended up killing herself so imagine we were close–how would I move on?
I am okay with myself and I think I will end up okay. That doesn’t mean each day I don’t compartmentalize every experience and sometimes don’t have the bandwidth to dissect my fuck ups. I edge on a personality disorder just like I edged on death.
Mom–I’m sorry I couldn’t help you and I’m sorry you wouldn’t let me. I hope you find peace and know you left three children here–not just my sister. And Mom, it was though our distance that I could heal but I needed your love so much and I know it was there. All is forgiven as I learn to see and find love outside of having a attentive mother. Still, I know I missed out.
