I can’t remember how old I was the last time I gave my Mum a hug and I can’t help but hate my mom for what she put me through as a child.
I just can’t bring myself to touch her. I’m good at cutting hair and I do hers for free and even that makes me feel uncomfortable.
Yet if she were to go from my life for good, I’d be heartbroken. I love her, but I hate her, too.
Before I was born my Mum had 3 other children, a son, then twins, a boy and a girl 4 years younger than him. When he was 12 he died from glue sniffing and my Mum couldn’t cope.
She was put into a mental hospital and the twins were taken into care. I have been told that that was when she changed.
She had to fight to keep me as the twins were 13 and still in care when I was born.
I watched my mom get beaten up and even sexually abused by my Dad up until the age of 4 when she finally left him. I thought that would be the end of it, but she had a drink problem and could lose her temper, too.
As a kid I was petrified of music. All I knew was that music meant friends, friends meant drinking, drinking meant no tea and violence and police.
Every now and then she would stop drinking and I’d see my old mom back-the one that read me bedtime stories, took me to the coast and kept the house clean and tidy. But then she’d hit the bottle again.
Sometimes she’d forget to pick me up from school and I’d be the last kid waiting when they came to close the doors. The teacher would take me to the office as they tried to get hold of my mom. Sometimes my Gran would turn up and take me to get fish and chips.
Sometimes the headteacher, who knew my Mum from when my older brother was still alive, would drive me home in his car. She would be in her nightie, with some random guy in the bedroom.
Looking back, I don’t understand why I was never taken into care.
When I was about 6, I once heard loud moaning coming from the room my mom shared with her new boyfriend. I thought he was hurting her, so I rushed in and saw them having sex.
I started crying. I didn’t know what they were doing, but my mom yelled at me to get out. I ran to my bedroom and they continued, her moans escalating until they finished. It happened quite often, and I couldn’t sleep. If I cried or shouted for them to stop then I’d get shouted at, hit or have things thrown at me. I would end up silently crying myself to sleep most nights.
I hate my mum, yet I love her just as much.
There are so many questions I have for my mom now.
Why did you put sex before me?
Why did you hit me so hard?
Why did a guy die in our house from a drug overdose?
Why was I punished when I found weed growing in our attic?
Why is it one rule for my Sister and another for me?
Why now, years later, when I’m an adult with my own child can you not look me in the eye and just say sorry?
I’ve wrote you a letter, 4 A4 pages long yet why am I too afraid to give it to you?
There are so many more things I could write down that she has done. People tell me to cut her out of my life, but I can’t. My Son’s face when Granny visits. he loves her to bits.
But I can’t let the past go and move on until she admits everything and explains why she did it. Until then I’m stuck. I don’t want her near me, but I don’t want her to go, either. I hate my mom but I love her at the same time.
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