Best Mothers day ever

Posted: March 31, 2014 in Mental Health

Now I have been around for a few Mothers days, the early ones would have passed me by as they would anyone else I’m sure. The slightly later ones would have been exciting, hiding things from mum or making cards at school would have made it seem like I, as a child was included. The pre teen years weren’t great as I was forcibly made to spend them with my mother and then once I achieved independence from the whole, Mothers are great brigade I dropped them entirely.

The fact I didn’t acknowledge them would , you would think, make them better or even great but the opposite was often true. You would always be asked what you were doing for your mum, to which being an honest kind of lad would say fuck all. Cue lecture from anyone or everyone who ever lost a parent or grandparent or, this goes on into addendum but you get the idea. “you should make up with her because once she’s gone you will feel; so guilty,” this is followed by an example of how they, their cousin, mother, dad etc. had that happen and never forgave themselves. Now its a heartless kind of man who will tell these people to fuck off but on my day I feel I can be as heartless as the best of them.

This was never easy because I had the sad fact that someone out there was actually sending my mother cards and gifts so she wasn’t feeling the full brunt of my snubbing and added to the lectures it wasn’t a great time of year. As one should expect if you have any concept of psychology a child that hates his mother is going to having some issues when, of should that be if, they mature to adulthood and I was far from the exception to that rule. Women had revealed themselves to me to be of two distinct types, not publically obviously but behind their closed doors.

The first of these two types is the evil, dismissive, abusing and neglectful cunt. I could only go on my own experience at this point so had seen nothing to deter me from seeing all women in this way except for the other type, these were the breeding programme for victims of the aforementioned cunts. Now I can see the ladies squirming uncomfortably in their chairs at this, I apologise for the use of the C word but if I am be succinct it is the only word that holds true under scrutiny. I no longer feel this and haven’t for a while, not a long while I might add but since therapy at least.

As one can imagine I interacted with many women in the period between me coming to this conclusion and the time I reached a level of maturity that allowed me to see the error of my ways, not that the other two don’t exist, they do but that there are other types who contradict the first, loving caring mothers who cherish their children and nurture them, love their partners and encourage them to parent effectively too thereby giving their offspring a decent home and loving family. In this intervening period I was not wholly appreciative of what I was give by my lovers, not all of whom went on to give me children.

I was misogynistic to a fault, I behaved as I should to their faces but secretly wanted nothing more than to humiliate them or better still subjugate them, thankfully there was a small part of me that knew better, the adult me trying to be heard, that kept me from outright hurting women at least physically. I was torn between the ideal of a man, protector and lover, provider and parent and the other man the cruel, vindictive childlike man who sometimes took me over and guided my hand, metaphorically usually but on rare occasions figuratively too.

My first relationships were short and manic, sex wasn’t about shared pleasure but more to do with getting what I felt I was owed from these young women who were no doubt trainees to one of the two positions I had imagined form them, in short they were collateral in the exchange and for some mind blowing reason they liked the way I was. I wasn’t handsome whilst not ugly either, I was strong and easily pushed to violence but caring to children and animals and I was always gentlemanly when in public, these minor plus points ensured me a sex life and then a proper relationship with a beautiful, caring woman who saw my flaws as growing pains of some sort and assumed I would grow up, eventually. We married and had two children, one of each but all the while we were planning our life I was seeing everything she did as a chess move, her idea that we stay at her families home was a plan to replace me as father figure to our daughter with her own father, the extended family was over laden with he side and my innate hatred of women was bubbling away all the while as aunts and cousins came along to add to the mix of nagging semi illiterate harpies trying to rule my life and that of my prized possession at the time, my girl.

Thing increased in intensity as the family moved in and out of the area to give me control of our life but the socio economic state of the country lead me to struggle to find the gentleman that was standing guard against my vilest ideas of  anti feminine causes. My dear first wife, pregnant with our second child, a son, was in some magical way destroying me. I know this sound crazy but I believed she was bringing a son into the world for one purpose, to mistreat him, that’s what mums did. When a man feels his kin are at risk he is beholden on his masculinity to defend the child but that is difficult when the mother is the keeper of the cards you need to play, if she decides you haven’t paid you dues the she can and will leave you out of the picture and find another man to bring up your kids. If she has a son of her own then she is made up.at least in my twisted world. he is the future head of the family, if she has political control over him, if the purse strings are never cut she has no need of the father and he can be disposed of like any waste material, effluent flushed away to be absorbed by the dark world offered in replaced to these lost souls.

Wife two was different and not through choice, I firmly believe that either of the two women in my life could have been swapped and they would have done the same thing. not because of anything special about me, but because each of them had something special about them. My second wife was with me through the darkest phases of life, my inability to see the actions I took were causing her pain or more seriously knowing and not caring, surely that would have sent a woman who fitted into my two categories in the woods escaping but it was never discussed and she showed the tenacious nerve that Roberto Durrant famously lacked, no cries of NO MAS No MAS from her.

So here I am a man with psychological issues that haven’t even been looked at at this stage but my wife stands her ground. Her first act was to change to world to best of her ability to allow me to function, survival was the aim at this stage and she fought hard to achieve it. Through her distraction methods and hiding the darkness of the turmoil our family was being sucked into I was allowed to become the thoughtful moron. Anti Psychotics were injected into me on such a regular pattern I lived essentially to their calendar. Through superhuman perseverance and stellar support from my true friends that I hadn’t ever considered having the need to lean on I regained a glimmer of decency.

I was unfortunate enough to get so ill that I was hospitalised, not a nurse with a thermometer and bowls of grapes type of set up, this was voluntary sectioning in a proper psychiatric wing with the locked doors and shared dorms with people as crazy and aggressive as I was about being there. So yes I sank low and eventually entered therapy, again with the total support of my wife who showed herself to be nothing at all like the template of women I grew with. In Therapy I met lots of women, mainly women to be fair and although some were the kind of woman I was keen to categorise most were not. They were mothers trying desperately hard to keep their own children with them , trying hard not to pass on the emotional damage they had suffered.

That was the past and I have moved forward, allowing every woman I meet the opportunity to prove their worth by their words and deeds, an obvious course of events you might think but it still seems like a risk to me, a worthwhile one but a risk nonetheless. In the background for most of this time has been a dark brooding presence that has diminished every day of my life, a malevolent force that made any mention of motherhood being akin to sainthood a trigger for dark feelings. in short my Mother was still inhaling valuable oxygen that would have been better used in car tyres or somewhere else.

So this year that changed, without going into detail she is no more and the effect that has had has before now been hard to gauge. I have always honoured the mothers day traditions for both the mothers of my children and done so in seemingly good grace although it has always been very difficult for me as there in the background was that ache of knowing someone was opening a formulaic card saying they were a great mum. This year has been very different and I am slightly piqued by the fact she is responsible but in this case it is in the opposing way, her absence from this realm makes I far simpler to engage with the day, knowing that the only mothers I know as such are generally good and deserve a special day means I can relax and do what my son would want me to for his mum, my older two are delivering a great day for their mum too and I can only say I still feel bad, guilt is in my toolbox unfortunately at this time, for the way I was before but I am thankful to them for allowing me to be a dad and grateful to the fates for ending the cause of my ambivalence, happy mothers day is something I can say with honesty from now on.

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