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mothers day

why do i even try?

me: Happy mothers day!

mom: Thank you! And thanks for surviving my mothering! With you, especially, there was a learning curve! :)

I try not to live in the past, or let things eat away at me... but it can be pretty hard on days like this. For context, I need to get into our history...

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When I was born, mom required a c-section which happened to get infected, leading to several months in the hospital trying to recover. I was a December baby, so this meant I ruined Christmas for everyone by stealing Grandma away to take care of me while mom was unable and dad lived in the hospital... it also just so happened that whole side of my family had the flu that year, so Xmas was extra ruined.

I've grown up hearing that story every year of my life, and as I got older I began to figure out the undertones (I'm autistic so it takes a while). I almost killed my mom. I ruined an entire holiday season. Everyone was traumatized and no one went to therapy, so there's still bitterness, resentment, and guilt underlying everything. They cope by making jokes, which I'm at the center of. Blamed without being to blame. Said sarcastically while meant seriously.

But to mom, this was proof we off on the wrong foot and never set it right. She couldn't hold me, or breast feed me, or even take me home from the hospital. She missed my newborn phase because she was fighting for her life, so my little brother was a second chance for her to mother the correct way; from the start.

Somewhere around 26, we found out we're sperm donor kids, which underlined my assumptions as fact. My brother wasn't just their second kid, he was their second chance.

See, it was the 80's and IVF is far from cheap today, so it cost them a ton. And they were ashamed, which led to hiding it from almost everyone: they lied to my half-brother about telling us, they hid it from family and friends, and half of my medical history was basically a lie since we still know anything about my biological father and used dad's history to fill in the gaps. The first hole in their story came when my blood-type didn't match something their's could have made and my genius little brother noticed. Mom was in tears, dad was irate, we were confused... and over 15yrs later I still don't know what my blood-type is for sure.

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When I told mom I was bi and dating a guy in my community college class, she had a literal breakdown and threatened to put me out on the street if I told my dad, grandpa, or made it publicly known. We had a fight, I stayed with my new boyfriend for a night or two (in his mom's basement), and what ended up happening was a classic case of blackmail! She helped me get an apartment next to the community college, paid for some groceries here-n-there, and we agreed to never speak of it as long as I didn't bring him around.

He more or less understood, but it was a poison pill for our relationship which fell apart a few years later over issues of commitment, shame, and guilt.

A few years prior, my brother attempted suicide (for the first of several times) and our parents assumed it was because he was gay. They raised us in a southern baptist church which had a weird fascination with "the gays" going to hell, and he had never dated or showed much interest in doing so. They seemed to be coming to terms with what that would mean, so I thought my coming out would go differently. But what may have been acceptance for him, was not for me.

Again, I was the kid to make mistakes on, and my brother the one to learn from and get it right.

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The last event I want to relive revolves about middle school.

In retrospect, knowing now that I'm autistic, we could have prepared for adolesence. But we didn't know, so as I changed from the only school I'd known to a whole new one across town, and my body started changing, everything went haywire. I didn't know what to do, struggled so much, and eventually got into a lot of fights which saw me being kicked out of school and forced to finish middle school at home.

Mom still calls it my "crazy year." Even though it lasted like 3 years and had nothing to do with crazy.

I needed help, support, accommodations; none of which I got. None of which were even noticed/offered. At one point they assumed I was bored and tested me for the genius program since my brother was already in it. I didn't qualify which led to me feeling even dumber by comparison.

My friends were obsessed with being cool and popular, while I just wanted to play Pokemon and talk about WWF/WCW. My favorite band was Hanson, but it was nobody elses in my age or grade. A group called themselves the "fashion police" and kept leaving tickets on my locker because my outfits didn't match; my solution was to wear the same color shirt and shoes (which I do to this day). It didn't stop them from leaving me tickets, but it became less frequent.

What did help the teasing and tickets stop? Getting into fights. Smashing a stapler into my arm and laughing as blood dripped from the holes. Faking a seizure and running away as the teachers called 911 in a panic. Leading walk-outs when class got too boring or the teacher was a jerk.

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I didn't survive her mothering. There was no learning curve. Nothing got better until I left. And even then, the guilt trips and bullshit continue anyway.

So happy mothers day, I guess. Maybe one day you'll figure out why you spend it alone more often than not.

05.08.2022 / milwaukee, wi