Memory~

I cannot keep it from my dreams nor keep it from stealing suddenly into my mind when control is relaxed.  Stealing like some vicious foot padded animal from a dark alley where it hides to strike a savage wound again and again.  Opening the old scar tissue with another dreadful gash.  Injuries to the body are fatal or they heal.  Not so these scars on the soul.  They too can be fatal, but they do not kill.  They too can heal, but the scar tissue is weak and can be opened at the slightest touch (of memory).  Opened as painfully each time...these gory wounds which do not bleed, these violent blows which do not bring unconsciousness, these lethal strokes which send a poisoned spear deep into the heart and fester without death... (Penned in the 80's)

A memory struck me the other night and I relayed this to my mother after she choose to bash me with all she had for everything I had ever done in my life.  She said living with me was like living in a “house of horrors.”  Hum.  Oh sure I pled guilty and I did plea for her to move on to the next subject at hand.  Hey, when pleading guilty, what more could be shot at you?  NOTHING!  Anyway, I say to her to bust her nut: Ma, do you remember when I took that Winchester bullet and lit it to my head in your presence so that I could blow my brains out in front of you?  AND why do you think I would want to do that? Duh?  She stated that she did not remember the event, but if she thought about it, it may come back to her.  Oh brother!  Gag me with a spoon will ya?  I know that if my daughter were to have done that in front of me, I would have remembered her doing so.  Selective memory?  Perhaps.  Anyway, it does seem odd that she cannot plea guilty to her own failures at being a mother.  I admit I don’t know how to be a mother and I most likely never will.  To this, I am not afraid to state the truth.  What is a mother anyway?

Q: What would cause a 13 year-old to want to do that in front of her mother?  I asked mother to look at the past and check out how I became what I was (in evil state) and what I am (not far from evil state (Might I mention that evil is subjective.)).  She only sees all my wrongs which I give full admission to.  I AM guilty, but life goes on.  I know what I have done, however, what caused me to do what I had done?  I know the answer as should she.  However, she is not ready nor will she ever be ready to see how she played a part in my making of self.  Frankly, it does hurt to revisit my childhood, but there is a greater part of me that is ever grateful for having had it just the way it was.  Alas, I will never be Cleopatra: Queen of Denial! ~ Maggie ~ April 20, 2010 @ 5:44 p.m. EST