11th grade. It was spring and prom was just around the corner. I had money stashed in a secret spot in my room and I had plans to buy a dress that weekend. I came home from school one afternoon only to find my room had been torn apart. The money was gone. My mother was too.
My mother disappearing from time to time for days on end was nothing new to me. I don't recall her ever doing it for more than 4 days, but she did it since I was probably around 13 or so. At first it would upset me or worry me but when I'd confront her about it, she always used the excuse that since she has no rights (being illegal in this country) this is the one way she felt free. I understood it and respected it, but mostly because arguing with my mother never got me anywhere. I never mentioned it again. Until this day, I still don't know where she went all those times. I doubt I ever will.
This time was a bit different.
My mom left me for about 7 months. At first I was a mess (actually, I think I'm still a mess), but then I became numb. My father was home more during that time than I ever remember him being before. Not really the most ideal situation since we never got along. I spent time away from home as much as I could and became completely detached from the idea of my family. As much as I tried to get along with him under the same roof, he was constantly drinking heavily and fighting with me. One night he completely broke my door down over some stupid argument and I honestly remember being scared for my life. It was one of the things I mentioned to the police when I filed the missing persons report for my mom. They didn't seem to react to it, though. Imagine that.
Christmas time came and I tried to decorate the house the way my mom always did. She does have such a way of making a house a home even if it's only by looks. Nothing I did seemed right. Nothing felt right. I found myself unable to remember many things she told me about her life. I hated myself for not having paid attention more because now I had nobody else to talk to about it. I never had any other family from her side, so it made it even more difficult. That Christmas I walked to church during a crazy snowstorm to go to midnight mass. Not because I had any religious beliefs but because I just simply wanted to be around people. My father (being the fucking poster child of Catholicism, as far as he was concerned) hated the fact that I was going to anything other than a Catholic church. As I was leaving, he called me a whore (whore to religion, or what? I don't know..) and said I was going to hell. haha. I think my parents both being so quick to call me awful names has left me pretty resilient to anything cruel that's been said to me since. So, if for no other reason, I thank them both for that.*
All the time that went by without her would have hurt so much less if she would have just picked up a phone and told me she was okay. I could make peace with her leaving and having a break from the life she hated, but I can't excuse her for not at the very least communicating with me somehow. I personally don't understand how you can love someone, especially family, and leave them like that. I've never made peace with the whole thing, and I don't know how. Anytime I brought up the subject with my mother, she turned it around and said she wished she never came back at all because I seemed to be so much happier without her. Makes no sense considering she never talked to me during that time. I seriously can't think about it all too much without feeling like my fucking head is going to explode. It makes me sick. But even more so, sad.
So why am I writing all of this right now?
It has a lot to do with the current situation I'm in at the moment. But I'm going to have to explain that in the second part. Perhaps tomorrow..
*Is it coming across how pissed off I am as I write this? I'm usually not so negative about my mother. Not until recently when I got the chance to sit and dwell on all she's done that I never even got to get angry at her for, and yet she was always the first to put me through emotional hell for things that were not even remotely close to being as big of a deal. As big of a deal as abandoning your kid without contact whatsoever for half a year, I mean. I'm not proud of myself or pleased with myself for having this much anger right now, but I just need to finally get it all out.
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