My mother recently made attempts to interlope in my personal relationship with my estranged wife. In a public forum no less. For completely inexplicable reasons of her own she went digging through my wife’s facebook and found one of my posts on her wall from last November. My wife has an obsession with Ryan Gosling, which I totally understand and not only permit but encourage, he is dreamy. I understand so long as she understood my fascination with Emma Stone. Not like it was a trade nor an ultimatum, I would have understood anyway, but mostly because I have my own little obsessions, we all do. In any case, there is a Ryan Gosling meme on the interwebs which I am certain most people are familiar with which features a picture of Ryan and begins with the line: “Hey girl” and is then followed by something utterly sappy and corny but deliciously romantic. You know, like the man himself. So while preparing to visit my wife early one morning I hopped onto facebook and typed: “Hey girl, I woke up early to get a head start on loving you.” Cheesy, corny and deliciously romantic. These are the kinds of things I was all the time doing for her. This is the same man she left roughly four months later. This post was a big hit, got about a gajillion likes from all her female friends like all the other super sweet things that I was always leaving on her facebook. My mother decided to go dig this up and comment on it almost two whole months after our relationship had ended. On my wife’s facebook wall for anyone to read after all the shouting had ended she writes “This wasn’t that long ago, what happened???!!!!!!!!!!” With that much punctuation or more.

I should mention that my mother left my father when I was five. She left him for another man. I didn’t hate this man, I even saw him quite by happenstance just a few weeks ago while helping a lady get her car unstuck from a snowdrift. He happened to stop to help as well, life is strange. She obviously didn’t stay with him. Nor anyone. She isn’t happy with her current husband either. I have forever distrusted marriage because of her and my wife has proven to me that it is a horrible and flawed institution. My mother moved fairly far away when I was very young. I was supposed to see her every two weeks. This quickly became once a month. Imagine, twelve times a year to a child. Children age so quickly, time passes so fast for them. Well, once a month would sometimes become once every two months sometimes at the very last minute. Actually… after the very last minute. By hours. I remember being ten and waiting in the foyer because she was intended to arrive at five. Eventually five came and I would jump at every car that turned down our street. After a half an hour of this I decided she was running late and thought perhaps I would watch television to distract myself. A show or two passed when the phone rang, my mother was running late she would now be there at eight. No bother I would watch a few more shows. Eight came and went. Around half past nine another call, she would not be coming. This happened often. After the first two times I was no longer hurt. I gave up on trying to know my mother. This is a hard thing for an eleven year old to do. Especially when you are living under the tyrannical rule of an abusive stepmother.

You would imagine that I would have all kinds of issues with regards to women. I don’t. If anything I have issues in favour of women. Which are still issues, though only really harmful to myself. There are times when being aggressive and assertive with women is appropriate. I’m jello. When I am assertive it happens in inappropriate ways at odd times. For the most part though it only happens as a desperation play and only because I really do not know what else to do. Poorly grafted frankenpersonality (if you don’t understand this you haven’t been reading long enough, I pity you because my earlier stuff is gold). I revere women. I have collected them for the most of my life. I am still friends with most of my exes on facebook at least, if not in real life. Some of my very closest friends are women I have slept with. Which I admit would be weird for a new woman in my life. Though I will posit that we are all in fact all adults now, so… suck it up buttercup. I have a penis, women have vaginas. Get used to it. I am quite comfortable with this arrangement. If ever I find myself not for some strange reason, there are alternatives… Yes, I am in fact male and sexually aroused by women and striking that perfect balance between respectful and meeting my sexual desires has been tricky. For many men I don’t think that this is much of an issue as most men I have found are quite cavalier and chauvinistic to this very day. Meeting their sexual desires is their priority it seems, or maybe I am seeing the wrong side of them, maybe they show other men only their bravado. As for myself I am at times rather too meek sexually and it can be frustrating. My fear is that if I ever really let myself go I will come completely unhinged and do something that will make her think I am some kind of strange pervert or weirdo. Not that I have unconventional tastes in the bedroom mind you. I am fairly average in my appetites though I do like to dabble in a little bit of everything. I find women aren’t generally communicative sexually. No… I find women aren’t communicative… No, scratch that. PEOPLE are all pretty much shit-horrible at nearly every form of communication. Only a very small portion of the adult population reads at an advanced enough level to comprehend even my piss-withered offerings. This saddens me because this really isn’t rocket surgery. This is just a damn blog. In spoken conversation only just over half of the information shared is disseminated effectively. Despite having spoken and written language we are really just leaking on poles and barking at each other. I digress.

I was speaking about sexual communication, women it seems don’t realize that they are allowed to instruct. They totally are and I have had to instruct, women that they are allowed to do so. Yet, they act offended… Like, in the dark you can hear their eyes roll in their heads. You hear the big exasperated sigh and know she is thinking: ‘Seriously, what is this middles school?! How does he not know what to do with a clitoris?!’. Women should really understand that they are not all the same by now and I have handed out more than my fair share of orgasms to this point. You really aren’t all the same, some of you require way more work than others. My least favourite of you are the ones I have had a really hard time with only to stop and ask my favourite question: “How do you normally do this yourself?” Only to get the reply: “Are you kidding me?!!! I’m not a pervert!!! I DO NOT masturbate!!!” Every single time this has happened I have firmly but politely asked her to put her clothes on and leave, or in the case that I am at her place I put mine on and call a cab. If you refuse to understand your body I refuse to figure it out for you. Good luck with your future husband.

Truthfully that whole sex thing was a massive digression but fun, no? Old Sigmund would be loving this post so far, I went almost directly from my mother to women in general to sex. Way to get the ball rolling. Back to my mother. I became a teenager. I had mobility and awareness. I mean I didn’t have a license, I just had the ability to take the bus and whatnot. We had been seeing one another intermittently but now I was able to take the train/bus to the city where she was living now which wasn’t that far away, only an hour or so by car. She was living with a new boyfriend after having left her second husband who I have to admit was a pretty cool guy and my first exposure to bipolar. He was a talented guitarist and really into rock and roll. Loved progressive rock and gave me quite a taste for it. Got me started on Uriah Heep, Deep Purple and the likes. We eventually collected so many vinyl records that we started a record store. These were good times with my mother, some of the only that I recall in her neglectful existence. She was a part way decent person when she was happy and had the things that she thought she wanted. The moment that any of her needs were shifted however, all of this came crashing down. You no longer mattered at all and all of her concerns were paramount, no matter how little. Around this time I made many friends in this city. I did not live with my mother at the time. I lived in a half-way home as she couldn’t afford to take me. Her relationship with her boyfriend deteriorated and they split the business. He took many records and went to another town. She moved locations in the same town and started a new shop. At this shop many of my local friends met my mother and they all thought she was so cool. She spent all of her time at the store and let them hang around. She was nice to them and got to know them. To this day they all think that she is the greatest person in the world, which actually infuriates me. These people, my “friends” who all think that my mother was so cool had loving homes with real, legitimate, caring, good parents. I had a selfish, uncaring vegetable who put on dramatics to gain sympathy from anyone who would listen to her. So these friends buy this act and think that I am some rotten ingrate and that my mother tried so hard to raise me… Which as you can see she never once did and that my mother was “that cool mom” Which she isn’t because she was never a “mom” to begin with. It actually causes my sister serious stress. I mean SERIOUS stress. The poor girl, the person in this world that I care about the most and my mother uses guilt and emotional blackmail on her to the point that she has to shut herself away and not have contact with people for weeks at a time. It isn’t fucking fair and there are times when I get so angry that I don’t give a fuck that she is my mother. I just want her to never talk to us again. She had her chance. Go away, you failed.

My father, the man that my mother left when I was five, of all the people in the universe is the one who has actually pushed me toward her. The guy who has the least reason in the world to advocate for her. My father has always said: “She’s the only mother you’ve got.” By this he means that I should try to cultivate a relationship with her. Know her and understand her rather than ditch her completely otherwise later in life when she is no longer around I may regret not having known her. My father is wise and I will also add rather big, I don’t mean in the physical sense. I mean it is big of him to advocate for a woman who has repeatedly and systematically failed at nearly everything familial including him. I am not going to paint him up to be a saint, however between the two he comes out ahead. So since my teens I have been beholden to my mother and tried to make the best of it. I have genuinely attempted with what little power I had in my life to adhere to a pattern of loyalty and respect for my mother. Even when it had been a detriment to me. In my adult years when It became easier for me to do so as I gained in finances and mobility I went to visit her with frequency, again even when it pained me at times to do so. My mother lives in a horribly run down house and refuses to leave. There are little comforts and she complains about it the whole time… I know. She won’t go, but she hates it there. She creates her own problems yet refuses to take the obvious solutions. She expects everyone else to jump right in and solve it for her, on their time and dime. I think she genuinely expects me and my sister to chime in and say: “No worries mom, I will spend $110,000 and the next four months renovating your home!”

My mother is never a direct individual. She does everything via headgames. She exploits, abuses and manipulates people in order to gain everything that she has rather than work with anyone or ask for anything. In short, she is insufferable and for the most part intolerable. When I visit I go out of my way to keep it short and light. The entire time I feel like I am sitting on a fault line. One foot always out the door and I commit myself to nothing. I have known her my whole life and I still don’t really know her. Whatever feelings I have for her aren’t love. At all. I haven’t loved my mother since I was around ten. Which is awkward. She says she loves me all the time and expects me to return it and I never feel comfortable saying it back… I feel like the biggest jerk in the word. How can you not say “I love you” to your own mother? What kind of creature do you need to be to not be able to do that? It isn’t as though she is a serial killer. Yet, still I don’t feel the emotion so saying it is super strange, I still say it but it feels hollow and empty. I feel dirty and creepy after I say it. That feeling you get after you kiss your grandmother on the mouth.

Following the facebook debacle I pulled her message down off my estranged wife’s wall and sent my mother a message to please not meddle in my personal relationships especially in public, that it was inconsiderate and disrespectful. My mother then goes back to the same comment that she had posted under to post a long winded apology where there is no longer her original comment… I take this down and I message my mother again to tell her to NOT MEDDLE IN MY RELATIONSHIPS. I tell her to say NOTHING at all, that it is none of her concern. That anything that could have been done had been done, that it was over. That she was not helping, only making herself look completely batshit insane in public, and could she just please stop. She replied with a guilt trip saying that there was no reason for her to be on this earth (a not very veiled suicide reference) and then she disowned me saying that an apology was in order or she would never speak to me again. Truthfully, I am looking forward to the silence. I have fulfilled my familial obligations dutifully as a son to this woman well above and beyond the call. Other than pushing me out she has done very little if anything for me and I am sorry but people throw that around all the damn time like it means something: “She gave birth to you!” Nine months of carrying a baby around and one night of pain do not a lifetime of servitude equate. She had her chance and she blew it, she may have been a mother but she sure as fuck is not my mom.


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