Never have I longed for a mother more. I keep muttering those words at the moment, but I also know I’ve said those words a thousand times before. A thousand other scenarios, a thousand other wounds I’ve cried them for. A thousand other conundrums where I’ve longed to give a call, to someone who is related and unconditionally cares.
The grief feels deeply stricken and deeply deeply sore. It feels like a wound I can’t imagine healing. It feels like a rage that stops me from seeing. It feels like a need that won’t stop singing. It feels like it’s my little me who won’t ever stop needing. And shouldn’t ever need to. It feels like my inner teen who won’t stop screaming. It feels like my perfectionist who won’t stop perfecting. It feels like a battle to be noticed, a battle to be given to. It feels like all the parts of me that were neglected – were motherfucking needing but never met – and are motherfucking needing now, and able to be met. By me, not by the mother that was given to me.
This whole time with my disc(s) has been so fucking ridiculous, and it’s around this time with my cycle that something surfaces. An unsealed, unspoken, something…always involving hatred and rage and frustration. And this time round, it seems to be going mostly outwards rather than shooting back in, becoming self hatred and loathing and depression. Instead, this month it’s raging – whatever this is – and it’s solely going outwards, except for the odd moment of utter loathing…it’s when I’ve forgotten to allow myself to be pissed.
There’s a rage here. An unseen regret from my childhood self that she was born into the situation she was. An un-fucking-fairness that yells and screams and lets rip, reminding me of the injustice and reminding me of my pain. The pain and heartache I’ll seemingly never forget. And I don’t think I ever will but when there’s healing, there’s softening…softening of the memories and the unbearable agony and hurt. There’ll always be pain but I’ll know where to take it – to a place inside my heart where I can wrap it in unconditional compassion and love, and know it’ll always be safe.
The trouble at the moment is that I just don’t give a fuck. (Some would say this isn’t trouble – some would say this is HEALING.) I just don’t give a fuck about anybody. And I really don’t want to ever have to. The funny thing is that this isn’t the whole of me – nor is anything ever – but right in this minute, right in this hour of this eve, I don’t want to give a flying fuck about anyone apart from me. And it’s not exactly new. It’s been brewing for a while now, but right now it’s seemingly all I can see. I’ve spent my entire life caring and worrying and adjusting myself just so things can be okay, and safe, and then they never are – or were – anyway. I spent all my fucking childhood years and teens tinkering with my freedom to make sure I did the right thing. And it never fucking was the right thing anyways. But right now it’s different – I’m not a fucking teen, but it feels like I should be. It feels like I need to have my experience now that I didn’t have then. It feels like I need my rebellion, I need my anger, I need to cause some mayhem. I need to fuck people off and then be forgiven. I need to let people know what I think of them, and still stick with them. I need to love myself unconditionally and hate everyone else. I need to have my freedom.
I need to tattoo my face with names of lovers. I need to rap out lyrics of dreams of my futures. I need to burst out rhymes about abusive teachers. I need to dance until dawn and sleep until dusk. I need to share bits of make up and fuck up delicate fairy dust. I need to pick on the bullies and beat them to pulp. I need to play soccer with the boys and kiss some of the girls. I need to express my needs at the top of my voice – I need to yell and scream and know I’ll be heard. And know, I won’t be abused.
I need to know that someone is listening. And I don’t want that someone to be me, because that’s who it’s always only ever been. Me. I want my time to come that I can be what I can be. I want the person I can be, to be the one I blossom into, not watch from a distance with a painful longing and air of regret.
I never got to do all of those things and I can’t fucking do them now because I’ve got two slipped discs. But also because I’m scared. I know I need this time of freedom – any therapist would tell you that, and so would I. I need this time of not giving a fuck and looking after just me. I need to just allow myself to be me – unscripted, untainted, unaltered, and free. I need this time of nurturance, and I need this time of safety…so it can happen. I need to know I can still be loved. I need to know that I always will be. By someone other than me. I need to know I deserve to revel in the unfairness of, and the frustration at, it all. Because it just so fucking is. I need to know you can do this and still be loved. I need to know that I can do this and still be loved. I need to know that I am no different from the rest. I need to know that I am not unworthy of this development and this growth, despite not properly receiving it in the years I should.
This evening, as I sit here festering in this unfairness and rage, my heart is singing because I am feeling. I am allowing for the injustice. I am allowing for the total fucking fear that I will never get to where I need or want, or know I am destined to be. And at the fear of what people will think of me, as I continue to become me. I am allowing for the motherfucking painful raging grief…the stuff so painful it needs to be banned from any psyche in man kind. No person deserves this shit, no matter the healing hand they’ve been dealt.
I just can’t shift the injustice, though. I just want everyone else to look after me, I just want everyone else to do what they should and be there for me. I don’t want it to be two sided, I want it to be one. I don’t want to have to give just to get back. I don’t want to have to love just to be loved. I don’t want to have to care just to be cared for. I don’t want to have to plan for a future where I will be lonely. I don’t want to have to live in the stories of the chaos that is coming. I want to live in the now and live in the freedom I can so easily give myself if I just listen.
Not to the criticism but to the healing. To the voice inside myself that is growing and growing. The voice of unconditional love, compassion, and acceptance – the part of me that is forgiving all the other bits that hurt and want to cause some…the other bits that I just want to run from or just solely BE…this part embraces them and allows them to have their freedom, but in a space inside myself that they know is safe. In a space inside myself that I know I can always create, whatever the goings on and whatever the picture outside my broken gate.
This part of me is always here now, I just sometimes have to work out how to find it. But when I do, I know I deserve this. I know I deserve this time to be a teen…I’ve motherfucking earned it. I just perhaps won’t do it quite how I might dream.
In order for it to happen, I need to continue to learn I can be loved through it. I need to know that when we fuck up, we can still be loved. I can still be loved. In order to be unscripted, untainted, unaltered, and free, I need to know this. But also, in order to know I can still be loved, I need to be unscripted, untainted, unaltered, and free, because then I know what they’re loving is really me. It’s not the scripted, tainted, altered version.