Waiting for a figment

As more time passes by (nearly 2 years since I ceased contact, now) the friendly mask that I pinned up on the face of my empty mother keeps slipping down. And I keep trying to hold it back up, to carry on the delusion.

But it was A’s birthday, and she didn’t try to contact.

She has never taken responsibility for the horror of my childhood.

She has moved house.

She knew a terrifying letter was sent to me, telling me of my high genetic risk of at least 3 cancers… and she never reached out with an offer of support. She left me alone in that. I should have started 6 monthly scans 6 months ago. I feel so petrified that I haven’t even handed the letter to my G.P yet.

My mother sent through money, twice. I immediately returned it to her bank account. Money is no substitute for heart.

She wrote a two sentence email when her father died, expecting to trigger my typical rescuer response. I did not respond – so when my ill grandmother died, she sent no message. I found the obituary online.

I want to be left alone by my heartless shell of a mother.

But I still wait for the loving mother I never knew
to knock on my door. The fantasy mother who was locked away in my infancy – who, surely, is trying even now to return to me.

 

(I know the mother I need has to come from within me. But the craving for an external representation of what I fucking deserved as a human being born onto this planet, persists.)