I am pissed. I am pissed off seeing everyone posting about their mothers. I am pissed that my mother has been pushing me away- farther and farther. She’s been mocking me, calling me all sorts of expletives, all week long. She’s been comparing what we eat, dieting, working out, and feeding off of my inexplicable need for her approval at 28 years of age.
I want to jump on the bandwagon and post a photo but neither do I like the way I look weighing less than 80 pounds with anorexia, nor am I particularly fond of her. She threw my heartfelt letter aside, ignored my texts and emails, and constantly provokes my eating disorder with purposeful tact.
I hate her. And I swear I would have recovered by now if I were far away from that person who can skip meals without question, eats a ziplock of dry cereal, and claims that she lives a miserable life despite having a well-paying job, a car, a large new and manicured house, ability and wherewithal to exercise and skip meals whenever she wants. She is married and gave birth. No one questions her. No one monitors her. Most everything goes her way because as she puts it, she is lady of the house.
She tells me I’ll never recover.
She tells me I’ll never get married and that I’ll never have kids. I’ll never have a paying career. I amount to nothing. I am just her burden with twiggy arms that she is embarrassed of.
She hates that I eat yogurt, nut butters, granola, fruit, vegetables, and fish. She wants me to gain weight with every villified option available - fried foods, grains upon grains- refined ones, and dessert baked goods, but I refuse.
She does not want me to clean or lift a finger because I’ll expend calories.
I hate her.
I hate Mother’s Day.
I hate that her birthday falls only a week or so before, as if everyday isn’t already her day.
I hate that whenever I am about to do something for me and for my recovery, she sabotages it. Like when I vow to go out and eat, but knowing that this is the case, she exercises to work off what we she can before having that single meal the entire day.
I hate the fact that she prioritizes herself with straightening and dyeing her hair, and grooming her nails and skin as I continue to punish myself in an effort to prove her wrong? Right?
I eat less when she eats less. I stand while eating, not enjoying my meal if she is not sitting. I go up the stairs when she does and outnumber her abdominal crunches by the hundreds.
I hate that she doesn’t realize that she can use her handbags, shoes, clothes, and sunglasses - all designer - as I wear my beloved collegiate sweats.
All that and more- I hate.
She says I am jealous and mistakes my constant desire to please her as what she calls “fatal attraction.”
To say I am insulted and degraded is putting it lightly.
I am pissed. I want this day to end, not bearing to see others’ healthy relationships with their own mothers.
I hate that she feels sorry for herself and keeps saying that this day- this weekend - means nothing. As a young woman without a period for four years, I cannot relate. This day means everything to me and my barren uterus.
Happy Mother’s Day to yours, but I cannot say the same for someone who is no longer mine.