Ma made a remark about Pidge and how she could drive you to drink and I stupidly told her that I’m back on the fags. You’d have thought I’d told her I’ve started chasing a fix with a shot of vodka through the eyeball the way she’d reacted.
For a second I wondered if I was still 13 rather than 31.
Then it dawned on me, sheer disappointment. I don’t know what I’d expected tbh. I thought it might open up a dialogue as to WHY, but no. She doesn’t actually give a fuck about me, or the way I’m feeling. Nothing has been learned from my past, nor The Boy Wonder’s suicide.
Ma is not so much a mother, more a frenemy. There’s never a sincere or kind word. I feel like she wants nothing for me except the same level of hardship as she had. I know she sure as shit doesn’t want better for me than she had, I know this because she tells me so, and then shows me just to cement it in there.
I really wish I had a proper mother, rather than the bollocks I got lumped with.
I can’t tell her what happened to me, for two reasons; firstly, she probably wouldn’t believe me, she stuck her head in the sand when her repugnant ex molested me while they were married and I was 15, so why would she break the habit of a lifetime? Secondly, even IF she did believe me, Ma is exactly the type of person that would lay the blame and fault for it happening, squarely at my feet.
As a kid I was nearly taken in to care, as an adult, I really wish I had been.