back | days |
So many daylogs and my day has only just begun. Would people add so many words if there were no votes to be gained?
So I crawl out of bed after so much warmth from within and without. It must simply be a product of
my depression the wintertime, I do not want to wake up, to wash and dress ready for work.
Recently I asked my grandmother about the circumstances surrounding my birth. The story was totally different to my Mother's, which meant that one of them was lying. I had promised myself that I would not bring the topic up with my mother - I didn't want to rock the boat. But, last night in the car, my conversation with my Mother somehow turned to how she met my father, how she became pregnant with me, and how she moved away from her mother's house. I knew that the story she would tell me would be different from my grandmother's but I had completely underestimated the reaction.
My mother broke down completely, sobbing as she told me just how much she hated her life, how much her life had been ruined by meeting my father. I watched in horror as she poured hatred onto her mother, her sisters and my father. How can someone hold that much hatred for a group of people? I don't think there are any people in the world that I blame so totally for ruining my life - yesterday's daylog shows that I do place some blame on others, but really I just haven't done so well with the cards life has dealt me.
So I try to comfort her, even going so far as to touch my mother's shoulder at one point. But she has never really come to terms with her pain. It is too deep, she is too scarred to get over events that happened 26 years ago.. It wasn't really a deathly, vengeful hatred; she was just so upset, so hurt by what had happened to her.
It is so painful watching your mother cry. I hadn't realised that it would be quite so traumatic watching her break down so completely. I have seen her in physical pain before; she has back and knee trouble. But such deep, searing emotional pain? It was physically painful to see that display of pain
So I sat there, listening to her retelling her story as I remember it, a story so totally different to the one told by my grandmother. It was difficult to ask her any questions, anything I wanted to say sounded as though I was doubting her. It was also quite hurtful to know that I was not conceived with love, but through, at best, date rape. At one point, in a small voice, I asked whether I was ever loved. She replied that she did her best to raise me well and love me. I also found out that my Mother was desperate to move from my grandmother's house, that she had to get away from the prison she saw all around her.
It was a very traumatic evening; I just wanted to crawl back into bed after that and never get up again. I suppose it was grew me in some way, and I did find out some things about my Mother during the evening. She hates her younger sisters because my grandmother made her look after them from age 11. She is intensely jealous of her older sister, cursing her for the attention and love that her older sister denied her, and she also blames her older sister for the death of my grandfather and the breakup of the family. Certainly, all her pain seems to stem from her hatred and jealousy of her older sister. It's a sobering thought to realise that your childhood experiences can colour your attitude to people to such a degree, it makes me wonder what irrationality I carry with me because of my life experiences. I wonder if my Mother's older sister hates her in the same way, somehow blaming my Mother for everything that went wrong in their family in the years before my birth?