Yesterday was Mother’s Day in England, and today I in a state of deep grief.
A state that comes from a sickness in my stomach, where my dead screaming is laying.
I did phone my Mum, spoke of little or nothing.
How can I speak of having a Mum when I desperately needed her.
How do I speak of having to learn how to bring myself up, not trusting of my Mum to be there for me.
How do I speak that I wanted to save me from my stepdad, divorce him, believe me, just place her children before him.
I cannot speak that to her, she would never hear.
Mother’s Day reminds what I did not have.
Every year, the media and shops shout out –
Everyone loves their mother. Give your mother love back.
A mother’s love is endless, mothers are there whatever you do or believe.
My screaming is bile in my throat.
Fucking grow up world – there is a tiny minority of mothers who are never there for children.
Mothers who ignore the changes, the joys, the fears, the sadness, the wanting of simple love of their children.
Name this neglect, name this mental abuse.
My Mum was no mother to me.
She could choose not to speak to me, when speaking it all about her and I had to fit in.
She would ahead of me, not looking behind to check if I walked into roads or just got lost.
She refuse to notice I didn’t go to school.
She told that any illness I had, was just in my head and was faking it for attention.
No, not a mother but a woman who place me in danger.
She left alone with my stepdad – and as I grow it became clearer and clearer that she know he was being sexual with me.
She did not stop me going out later and later at night.
She ignores cuts, bruises and fear in my eyes.
She never question what was happening to me – just told I was a slut, I was getting what I deserved.
Christ, this post in written in terror and deep grief.
I cannot write to make sense, only to silence some of my screaming.
Fuck Mother’s Day.