She told me not to do this, but...

I love her.

This isn't really for any of you who read my mother's blog, its mostly just for her. I am putting it up for all to see though...purposely.



I disappear. Thats how I cope. I disappear emotionally and just recently, physically. When I was little, it was upstairs in my room. Now, its out. Out into the unknown. Which is more scary than my room. Oddly, not knowing what I'm doing or where I'm at makes it easier for me to run. I have a sore feeling though that I'm no longer running from my confusing relationship with my mother...I'm running from me.



I never told my mother this and I think its somewhat risky putting such a private memory on the internet for you to see.

I remember when I was very young calling "mommy!" into the night when I was absolutely terrified of the monsters that lived under my bed. I used to be so scared that I jumped at the sound of my own voice when I said her name into the silence. This was my routine when I got scared...

Pull covers all the way up to my chin and keep my arms and legs close to my body.

Close my eyes tighter and tighter until I saw all those swirling pretty colors that come when you close your eyes too tight.

Whisper "mommy" and only get louder when I got used to saying it without scaring myself.



It took awhile before I actually got loud enough for her to hear me. Although this seems like a long process, it was only a matter of seconds before I heard comfort on its way. I could hear her roll over. I could hear her sigh when she sat up from a wonderful, warm sleep close to my daddy. I could hear her feet dragging on the carpet. I heard her come into my room. And then I heard her say the words that, to me, saved my life, "Mommy's here, baby." Then, I opened my eyes. I remember I was so little that I could hug her knee when she sat on my bed; my tiny arms didn't even go all the way around her leg. Mommy, to me, was God.

She ran to me when I screamed. She softly whispered, "don't cry." when tears poured. She instinctively threw her arm across my chest when she had to slam on the brakes when we went driving. she bandaged my scabby knees. She watched me sleep. She rocked me to sleep and if I let her, she still would.

God would sit on the side of my bed and caress my tummy until I fell asleep again. Sometimes, God was so tired that God would fall asleep sitting there. I would have to wake God up and tell her "don't stop." And God would continue to caress my tummy. I was safe. God was caressing me back to sleep. I knew the monsters wouldn't come when God was with me.



I don't know what happened. I don't know when exactly I started to disappear. It's like I got scared of the raw exposure of of my severe need of someone to always comfort me. I felt wierd. It felt strange to be 16 and still need God to sit on the side of my bed. So I pushed God away from me. I forced myself (unfortunately successfully) to "grow out of it." I was still doing a lot of things a normal growing girl would grow out of. So I pushed God off my bed. The thing that I didn't think would happen was, God wasn't ready to say goodnight. I think it hurt her. I think it hurt really really bad.



Over time, the disappearing act became more and more comfortable only because when I disappeared, the situation did as well. And when it all disappeared, the false happy came. the false happy was something we could both agree on.



Don't ever disappear. Don't ever hide. Don't ever run. Don't ever hold anything back. Now, I hold even the good stuff back. I hold back everything when I'm with my mom. I don't do it intentionally. Its just the disease I let eat me. I cry literally after I see my mom. I did tonight in the car after church. I cried. hard. Because I wanted to be a five year old, scared of the monsters, and wrap myself around my mommy. I wanted so bad to talk to her and to be with her. But I just couldn't do it. The disappearing disease wouldn't let me. I tried. She was sitting with a friend after church and was talking to her. Me and my boyfriend sat behind her. waiting. I didn't say anything. I should have. But I didn't know how. Its hard to tear down a wall that I built with my own hate and pride. It's like Im my worst enemy now. The worst part about it all.... God got used to being pushed away.

After I try and fail I just retreat back to what I know. Even though what I know isn't comfortable anymore. It hurts worse than trying now.



Greg, my boyfriend, showed me how to come out from hiding. Somehow, he saw past the shell I locked myself in. He looked at me oneday and said, "Just cry..." Thats all he said. He tried before then to get me to let go of the hurt I carried with me everywhere I went, but I never let it work. My dad was also gone. I never told anyone, but not hearing my daddys "I'M HOME!!" everyday sent me into a world that spoke a different language. I couldn't keep up. Gregory, looking me in the eye and begging me to let go and just cry, somehow was the net I needed. I needed to know he would catch me when I decided it was safe to fall.



Falling was exactly what I needed to do.



I love you mom. I'm sorry that I pushed you away from me. I had know idea that I needed you. I do know that I need you now. It took too long for me to figure it out and it took too long for me to get over myself, but if somehow I could just let you know that I love you. I'm not a grown up. I'm not ready for anything. I'm not ready because I never let you prepare me. I love you mommy.



"Through every child's eyes, mother is God." -anonymous.



I'm sorry I posted a blog.