My Real Mother and Her Unreal World

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I'm dropping all the B.S.

weird dimmension planet thing.jpg

Lately, I've been writing so much for work that I've found it difficult to write here on Hive. I know I love writing, but on a day like today, I've already written 10 pages in a book among other things. Sometimes, that makes me weary with my words, so to speak.

All this has brought me to a realization. I need a place to release who I really am. I need a place to drop my real thoughts, no matter who is listening, and just get back to the core of who I am.

While that concept is a constant discovery, I'd like to do it here, and I hope that some of you can benefit somehow from what I share.

So, my first personal post will be about my real mother. These are things I haven't shared much publicly, but I thought of her a moment ago, and for the first time ever, the thought evoked a real emotion: Sadness.

There is a reason why the thought of my mother usually lacks any emotional connection. It is because I never really knew her.

My last memories of her were when I was only three years old. We lived in Chicago, Illinois, and she had told my three sisters and me that our dad was going to kill us. She loaded us up into our little blue Ford Windstar, hiding a butcher knife under her seat, and took us all the way to Seattle, Washington.

She drove us there and brought us to her best friend's house. Her friend wasn't a relative, but we were conditioned to call her Aunt. There were three brothers who lived there, along with their father who physically and sexually abused them.

The eldest two, who knew no better, turned that abuse on my sisters. My mother was never there. I don't remember any adults being there.

The thing is, I don't think my mother knew what she was doing. She is a diagnosed paranoid schizophrenic, and evidently, that time in our lives was in her late 20's when she snapped.

From what my sisters have told me, she was a very loving mother before that happened. She took care of us, nurtured us, fed us, and kept the house immaculate.

It's hard for me to imagine this, as I was too young to remember the good parts. The entire time we were in that putrid house (which was between 4 and 6 months I'm told), my dad was searching for us - as were the cops.

When my father finally found us we were covered in stench and had no clothes. The last thing I remember about my mother at that point was her being handcuffed and taken away in a police car.

After that, my dad got a divorce and won the custody battle. It was all a very messy thing. Men were very seldom awarded their children in the state of Washington then, and I am grateful to God we ended up being put in my father's care.

I never spoke about or to my mother after that, at least, during my childhood. When I was a teenager, I found out she had another baby. I had a half-brother somewhere in the world.

He had been taken by the state from my mother, who was in no mental condition to care for him. He was only a toddler, but his teeth had rotted out of his mouth, and he was living in a house with molded piles of clothing stacked to the ceiling - so, I am told.

During most of my life, I have chosen not to think of my mother. I suppose it was because she wasn't there. Take that, compounded the pain my family felt because of the events that took place, and you got a kid who never dealt with any of those issues.

We never talked about it. My dad has only ever said these words to me: "The kids I picked up were not the same kids I had before she took them."

I'd say this is an understatement. All three of my sisters have ended up in mental institutions for attempted suicide, some more than others. Fortunately, they are doing much better now. One of them has achieved her master's degree. Another got a degree in teaching and now owns a used car company with her husband. I'm not sure what the third one is doing.

That seems to be a common problem in our family. We love each other, but there is this immense void between us at all times. Most of my life, I have lived 2,000 miles away from them, but either way - we seldom talk.

The last stretch of time we spent between conversations was 10 years.... That's about a third of my lifetime, just to give some perspective.

That same void is there when it comes to the topic of my mother. I rarely ever think about her or talk about her. When I do, I usually feel nothing. That probably isn't healthy, but I don't really have a lot to gauge it against, I suppose.

Today, I was talking to my fiance about her. I was explaining to her that she literally exists in another world.

I spoke to her once when I was 19. It was the only time I have ever spoken to her since I was a knee-high three-year-old. I had ventured out on a limb and asked one of my sisters for her phone number. She gave it to me, and I mustered up the courage to make the call.

She answered, and as we talked it became clearer and clearer to me that she was in a different dimension entirely. She kept on calling me, "My baby... Oh... My baby..." as if nothing had ever happened.

It was like she was still living the same life in her head we had when I was 2, right before she lost it. Something strange did happen though. It's part of the reason why I think people with mental disorders sometimes catch glimpses of a world that is actually real, but not something we can see.

It's like they can see something we can't, but at the same time, they can't see anything that is right in front of them.

You see, at the time I called my mother, it was my friend's birthday. We were having a party for him, but I had stepped outside for my conversation with my mom.

I hadn't said a word about it...

I was outside on the deck and it was completely silent except for our conversation...

I hadn't even told her that I HAD any friends... She was too busy talking about some weird child trust fund that didn't exist anywhere in this atmosphere.

All of the sudden, she stopped me from talking and said, "Oh ya... and by the way... tell your friend happy birthday!"

She immediately went back to ranting about some other stuff I couldn't understand. My hair stood up on end. That was an extremely weird moment for me.

Anyway, as I was talking to my fiance about this, I felt something for the first time. I felt sadness, because my mother is so distant. I remembered a song that I started writing a long time ago. The lyrics were these:

Mother... do you see what you have done to me?

Child... I never meant to leave you stranded this way... but may the sunlight heal your tears, today... cause you know I'll never be there...

So, sleep soft tonight... and know that I am locked inside my mind... so far, far away... and I'll never see the light of the outside world... the outside world...

So, this has been a little about my life. Its probably the deepest thing I've shared about me personally on this platform - or any platform for that matter.

If you read it, I appreciate you stopping by to listen.

Have a nice day... :)



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"Oh ya... and by the way... tell your friend happy birthday!"

Woah! That was weird!

It's part of the reason why I think people with mental disorders sometimes catch glimpses of a world that is actually real, but not something we can see.

I can actually believe that, because there are times when moving from sleep to wakefulness where I feel that I'm losing a conscious grasp on a reality that is just out of my reach. I had the same experience with some eatables and it freaked me out! It's like I know it's there, it's real and it feels important, but I can't quite hold onto it in my mind, which makes me feel a little like I'm losing my mind myself.

I can really connect with your father, losing the children he knew. Events like that for children affect them way more than they do adults. As much as he must have been overjoyed to have you all back, he must have grieved for what he lost and may even have felt he'd failed you.

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Ya, I believe there are things in the nether - or whatever. Lol.

About my dad... ya... he definitely felt that way. My sisters and I have never talked to him about what happened there. Couldn't stand to break his heart and he still doesn't know to this day.

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Wow I don't know what to say.

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That's okay. :) You don't have to know what to say... but you did say something. I appreciate that. :D

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