I talked to my mom on the phone last night. It was the talk after the Really Bad, Fighting Talk we had the other night about car insurance. The fight basically went like this:
Mom: “I told you to do this a long time ago. You’re irresponsible and now I have to pay for your mistakes.” [I had mistakenly asked her if she would call her mechanic to see if I could get my car inspected when I came home. Apparently this is a hardship not to be borne.]
Me: “I understand that I screwed up. Can we concentrate on what to do now instead of digging up the faults of my past? I’m tired of hearing about everything that I did wrong two months ago.”
Mom: “Stop condemning me. I’m right, you’re wrong, and I’m tired of dealing with your screw ups.”
Me: “Well I don’t like being reminded about everything that I do wrong all the time.” [She loves to slip in little jab-pokes at me like "we need to do x, like responsible adults should have done" or, "like you should have done a long time ago" or, "now I have to deal with something that you messed up," etc, etc.]
Mom: “Well, it’s true, and I don’t care how you feel because I’m right.”
By the end of the conversation, I needed to be reminded of reasons why I am not Inherently Bad Person and everything that my counselor and I had worked through last fall. Sheesh. It was stressful. I had to turn out all the lights and smoke and stare at the ceiling from my prone position on the floor.
So, yesterday, I went to AAA to work out all this stuff and find out what I needed to do, like a responsible adult would do. It was so much easier than my mom made it sound. My mother is the queen of blowing things out of proportion, and then crying “woe is me! My life is so HARD!”
So I called her and told her that I didn’t really need to come home to take care of all the car stuff; she could just mail me the title and be done with it. That way, I could save gas money because I really can’t afford to drive home at this time. Her response: “Well, I’ll have to call AAA to make sure that is actually true. And you never cared about how much gas was going to cost before [you ungrateful idiot].” Her tone said it all.
While I was at work, she called me back and left a message on my phone: “I called AAA and found out that what you said is [astonishingly] true. Let me know if you’re actually going to come home because that will change my plans for the whole weekend [once again you are screwing up my life with your procrastination].”
So I called her back and told her that I would really like to come home [at this point, I don't know why] but I really can’t afford the gas to get home, what with all the taxes I will be paying soon to get the car transferred to my name, not to mention, paying for car insurance. If she would be willing to help me with gas, I would like to come home. She said she couldn’t spare the money. She would mail the title to me shortly. She, of course, didn’t forget to put some blame on me for the whole situation. When I would tell her what I had learned at AAA, she would parrot it back to me “Well, of course, x and x are true,” with a tone that said I knew that all along, you stupid girl. Well, then why didn’t she tell me before?
I even went so far as to apologize for upsetting her the night before. She replied in an icy-cold tone, “I forgive you.” And then she said nothing more. Maybe I had hurt her pride and her precious schedule, but she had hurt ME. But all that doesn’t matter because it is my fault. She was merely reminding me of that, so she is not culpable if I feel hurt.
We went through a similar situation about a year ago, and I refused to talk to her for several months the last time. She finally called me one night and begged me to talk to her. I told her she better shape up and stop the venom, or I just won’t come home or talk to her. I asked her to be kind. She agreed. But the same thing is happening again, and once again, she is making it to be all my fault. I am responsible for her anger because I cause it. That is her mantra. I have been trying to get through to her since I was in the seventh grade, the night we fought and I called someone to talk to because my own mother refused to talk to me, and she unplugged the phone cord in the middle of my tearful catharsis of talking to someone with a human exterior. I knew then that she would cleave me to her side, but I had to be clean and a good daughter in order for her to accept me. Since then, I have used tears, silence, shouting, swear words, and once I even grabbed her arm as she was leaving me in order to make her listen to me. I have tried. But we can only be nice to each other when I am shiny and clean. I know this is true because she reminds me of my halcyon year of five when I was a cute, agreeable kindergartener. I think she would keep me that age if she could. I went to the crapper when I turned 16 according to her–she also reminds me of this from time to time. And she doesn’t understand why that would be hurtful. No wonder I have a hard time standing up for myself. My own mother rejects me when I do. I had to go through months of counseling in order to realize that I was actually doing something right when I stood up for myself.
I would like to contrast this with my best friend’s mother, who is so willing to help me when I mess up or don’t know what to do that I can’t understand it. I feel guilty every time I ask her. In my world, mothers are supposed to make everyone very aware of how much they are suffering. Yesterday morning I called her to ask her a few questions about state law and cars and such. She gladly answered them and even offered some advice I didn’t ask for. I understand that I am not her daughter, and therefore, she might be nicer to me, but knowing this woman and her huge heart, I doubt that she treats my best friend any differently.
I honestly don’t know who my mother is. Even in our times of congeniality, it still feels like a big sham and that something is waiting to rear its ugly head when I screw up. Oh, but my mother does everything in her power to make my life easier and to help me, right? So shouldn’t I just be grateful and keep my mouth shut?
Meanwhile, when I think about everything that I have to pay for and all the difficulties with my mother. Quite frankly, I feel like Moses at the Red Sea with the Egyptians closing in. Either I part the waters, or I get killed.
