A Drink With Death

My sister doesn’t want me to talk to our mother because she thinks I will be physically violent towards her.
She doesn’t know our mother.
Our mother voluntarily got her ass beat by my sister’s father for 20 years every day while she made me alone watch this, for the first 11 years of my life. Her only apology has been “sorry I’m not perfect”. If I was going to be violent toward her for not loving me, she might actually enjoy that. She enjoys being torn down, assaulted, mistreated, and talked down to and hit. The first thing that she ever gave me that I really wanted were Wonder Woman Underoos. And In those Amazonian Princess panties and teeshirt, I had to carry my infant sister out into the streets in the middle of the night, with no shoes on, to find help for us because my stepfather was dragging my mother down an alleyway covered in glass and kicking and beating her like a savage beast. After a while, I enjoyed the thought of her being tortured myself because I could not understand why anyone would put up with that for any length of time if they did not on some level appreciate it or feel as if it were deserved. And so I would never give her the satisfaction of yelling at her and making her a bad mother trope, so she could use that ‘woe is me, my child doesn’t love me schpeel’ in order to get her church friends to feel sorry for her and increase her narcissistic supply of praise and adoration. And after being alive for 45 years I don’t expect her to change her stripes and turn around and love me. What’s in it for her? She’s received more kindness and understanding from others because she does not have a good relationship with her eldest child than I could provide her if I simply out succeeded and outshone her in every way possible and imaginable to her glory. Me being great is required, but it is not good enough alone. I have to be great, and I also have to hate her. She needs that for her narrative. With that she can get people to pay her rent, pay her compliments, pay her mind, and listen to her and provide for her; many many people from everywhere she goes. My love is not nearly as financially and emotionally and socially beneficial as strain is. So I don’t yell at her, I don’t curse. I ensure my child calls her on all holidays that she celebrates and keeps her up to date on the comings and goings of his life and how well he is doing in the world. I don’t speak to her and I don’t bother her and I never remind her how much I needed her when I was little, and how much I wish I had a figure like how she is supposed to be in my life now to go to for sage advice and wisdom and encouragement. She won’t hear any positive or negative reactions from me. She gets the gray rock mode from me. Because I still have to survive.  I still have to tell my brain that I’m safe now. I still have to tell my brain that I don’t have to be in control of everybody in order to feel seen or needed or respected. I don’t have to choke people, spit on them, chain them up and watch them writhe and maybe deep down pretend it is her who is loving this suffering. I don’t have to let the fact that she doesn’t love me and never did, stop me from enjoying anything- it happened and it is also over now.

My sister is in love again.
My sister doesn’t know anything about love. The same sister who doesn’t want me to talk to mom. And the new guy is 62 and she just turned 38. He leaves her alone with his invalid mother and makes her take care of the lady, including baths, without telling her when he is returning for days and weeks sporadically whenever he feels like it. And he keeps her in all the street drugs she desires and she hasn’t been sober on any level in the past 9 months. Mom and her Christian soldiers have tried to convince my sister to get off drugs by basically admonishing her and she has tried to have physical fistfights with mom. She calls mom a bitch and a fake and a lousy mother to her face all of the time, and frequently in front of Mom’s friends so mom can cry and get head pats and hugs. The 62-year old that my sister is dating is only a year younger than Mom. My sister just discovered yesterday that he is taking HIV medications while going through his belongings after he left her alone for a week without calling or contacting her the entire time but he hasn’t even mentioned the pills and they’ve been fucking like they’ve been married a decade for the majority of this year. Mom loves my sister dearly, lets her come home and stay there whenever she wants, and all of her druggie friends and terrible boyfriends too, robbing Mom blind so she can get prayers about it at church. Last time I was in town, Mom wouldn’t let my son sleep over the night unless I paid her the same amount I would have to pay a professional babysitter when he was 12 years old and fucking asleep- all because I was going out on a night on the town…with her own sister, my youngest aunt. Sis says she hates mom because mom won’t validate her love for the older guy and respect her wishes; and sis just disowned her only child, my nephew, very recently for coming out as gay- when mind you, many of her drugged up abusive relationships as a young woman were with women she was dating. I love Mom so much that I stay away from her. I want to be a better mom to my own son so I go to therapy to not be like her. I still love Wonder Woman, because it was the first girly thing I ever wanted or ever received from my Mom. My name is Pixie Prince on some of my first books because Mom’s nickname when she was a teenager was Pixie, and the character of Wonder Woman’s alter ego is Diana Prince. I love my Mom that much. So for my 45th birthday, I dressed like Wonder Woman, head to toe, and felt so strong and beautiful for one day. My sister showed the pictures of me in my costume to my mom and mom said I looked fat and my butt was too big and my face, although the makeup was well done, simply looked to her like my “nerdy ass father” in lashes. My father, unlike my sister’s father, never hit my mom and even though he’s dead now, she’s still disrespecting him for not doing so apparently. Mom will never know how much that hurt me to hear but I’ma roll with it. Because I’m not going to let anything destroy me anymore but my own death. I stopped fucking with people that I have to abuse in the relationship for them to get off recently because although I have a desire for that kind of kink I know now its a sort of repression thing that I’m acting out- destroying someone I love because they love being destroyed and having them beg me to do it has something to do with Mom I’m sure. I don’t tell my grown-ass sister what to do or judge her for the shit she does and if she came to me and needed help I’d do whatever it was in my power to do that would not put me or anyone else in jeopardy or danger or thwart my own self-sustainment and survival because I love Mom, and she came from Mom. ‘But all I got is me.

 

2 thoughts on “A Drink With Death

  1. There is a large amount to pick apart here. However… Happy belated birthday! The pics of you as Wonder Woman were great! You have grown and shared the good parts of you, even though you came from “worse”. I appreciate you and your talents; and will always send love & good vibes your way. ❤️

    As Always…
    Stay Positive!

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