The Weight of the World
Despite the lack of comments (thus far) on my last piece, and the resulting insecurity & ridiculous angst I'm trying in vain to ignore (three steps forward, two steps back), I continued my writing fest today with another session of poetic venting (this time about the dark side of my relationship with my mentally ill mother). It's painful to dredge
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and I already felt like the world was on my shoulders --
now, this man whom I'd never met
had casually added Jupiter to the mix.
It was official then:
it was my job to look out for my mom,
not the other way around.
Simply love the Jupiter line.
Reading this from both the perspective of a daughter and a mother to a daughter and I am so sorry that your relationship with your mom was this tough. I'm glad I'm getting to read this to understand better exactly all that you have struggled with (and do still struggle with) and I so understand the confusion of juggling when she had a good day and a bad, your happy memories and your sad ♥
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I so understand the confusion of juggling when she had a good day and a bad, your happy memories and your sad ♥
Yeah, I remember asking my counselor once, "Which one was her?", and she replied, "They all were." And I was just so confused. I'd always been told only certain parts of her were *her*--the rest was either her bipolar disorder, her addiction, or medication side-effects--and it was always like, "Well, who's this other person then? She can't just be an empty body with nothing inside." Like I wrote in my poem, how do you talk to a disease? What do you do when you're 16 years old & want to go run & find your mom when it's supposedly her standing in front of you?
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