15 years old.
The blood from my nose runs into my mouth as I stand talking to the police officer while in handcuffs. I spit blood as I yell, “I didn’t do anything!!!” It’s no use. I’m headed back to jail. I turn and look back at my mom and yell, “Fuck you, you controlling bitch!” I’m the one standing with a bloody nose and injuries and I’m the one going to jail. The intake officer said her hello’s and leads me back to my cell. Her conversation with me outside the door was meant to be an eye opener. “I’ve seen you too often. Ya know, you only get one mom. If something happens to her, you’re going to have a handful of regret.” I roll my eyes and walk into my cell. I lie down and begin to think about the night. Perhaps I was in the wrong. I shouldn’t have called her names. But wait a minute! She punched me! She pushed me after I told her she gave me permission to go out the night before. I threw my fit, as all teens do. But to be punched? Who the hell does that? I knew from that point forward, I was going to make her life hell.
Upon release, I’m sent to a group home. I hadn’t talked to my mom in months and my emotions for her were still running high. One day, I was told I had a phone call. “Hello?” The familiar voice replies, “Hey. It’s mom.” My blood starts to rise to my face. I feel my body start to shake. I reply, “Why are you calling?!” Her reply, “I just wanted to see how you were doing. I haven’t talked to you in months.” Her tone is accusatory. Like it’s my fault we haven’t spoken. The anger starts to rise to my mouth and out spews, “I don’t want you calling me! You have done nothing but control and ruin my life! You have done NOTHING to help me achieve in my life! By the way, MOM, what are my goals? Do you even know or care? Don’t call me again.” Telling her off gave me the satisfaction I needed.
Back in jail. This place is my second home. I guess stealing a car and going on a beer run is not legal. *insert sarcasm* I’m just so tired of being caged. I’m so tired of being told what to do. I’m so…….tired. I think the judge is sick of seeing me too. My mom is in the court room. As I leave, she tries to hug me and I turn my back to her. I am so angry! In public she tries to reach out but behind closed doors she’s an angry, controlling, lying human being. Later in life I learned from her friends that she would come to work and tell everyone how bad I abused her and how out of control I was. Let me make it clear, now, I’ve never physically abused my mom. Even while she was punching me, I never threw a hit. Ever. I will admit, I was verbally abusive to her during fights and arguments. I guess I learned well.
Life has moved on. We’ve somehow managed to sweep our issues under the rug and today….she is my best friend. Hard to believe, right? It’s as if silently we’ve told one another we’re sorry. There are still moments I see her dark side slip out and I’m able to confront her about it without a fight. Her face changes and I almost see her snap out of it. I will never forget the things we went through together. Years later I’m still working through our issues, trying to heal from my past. One day, I hope to come to a satisfied ending. For now, I’ll let go.