When I think about what I find most disturbing about my mother is her never ending supply of rage. I remember thinking, maybe if I squeezed her, all her rage would ooze out of her. I later discovered that she is rage, she does not have rage. I think if I carried that much anger in me, I would have exploded and perished. However, my mother’s system runs on rage. This still makes me shiver and hide under my blankets. How did her body give birth to five beautiful little girls? I feel betrayed by her body. How did her body allow her to conceive and give birth to five precious children? Children of God.
Growing up and well into my adult life my mother would repeat everyday, “A good child does not get angry with their parents.” But this was the problem. My mother was enraged with her parents, but since she could not tell them so, she directed her endless supply of rage right onto my sisters and me. She projected her rage at my two aunts, my father, the cashier in Walmart and anyone else you had a pulse and was breathing oxygen.
The rage increased as I became a teenager and a young lady. She would step up her crude remarks, bullying and perverted talk. “Don’t think you’re that pretty,” she’d spit with eyes bulging once again out of their sockets. She hated that I looked like my father. She felt betrayed that I got so much attention. I looked pale next to her olive skin. I had straight hair and full lips where she despised her tight curls and shapeless mouth, as she often described it. My mom was actually very attractive, but she never accepted her looks. She despised every morsel of herself and projected that onto to my sisters and I.
My mother’s rage was out of control when she saw me hugging my beautiful daughters or dotting over them; scurrying around the house trying hard to meet their needs and filling their wee hearts with love and security. “Don’t worry your daughters are fine. No one is bothering them.” She said this in a cruel and disgusting manner. She said this trying to shame me for expressing love to my own children. She would eye them repeatedly. I knew this meant she was planning a way that she can disrupt the love and kindness I was showing my daughters. She was formulating a plan to squeeze out the love from my life and stop my flow of love to my children. This is the truth. I am not making this up. She did this repeatedly. Each time she’s get more aggressive and vicious when her attempts failed. She was determined to take my love away from them and keep it solely focused on her.
She’s seventy-two years old. People filled with rage live long miserable lives working hard to make my sisters and people around her as miserable as they are. I dread how much longer she is going to walk this earth. I want all that rage to die, but I know it won’t. My sisters have learned to live on rage. It will never be done for them. As for me, I’ve moved on a while ago.