Wonder what life is....

Lately I've been exploring myself. What do I want? What do I need? Who am I? Uh? What? Um? Mostly my conversations with myself have been dim witted, dull, lifeless, and unintelligible. I'm going to go back to the middle, the beginning is too far back. The middle was my mom dying. That moment was life changing in the fact that it felt like it took something away from me. What was it that was taken away? Who was I before my mother's last breath? I can tell you what I was doing. I was meditating. I was tap dancing. I was exploring my anger issues with my mom a few months before she died with a life coach. I was very angry with her. I never told her. In fact, I lied to her as I said she was a great mother. She wasn't. She never said sorry. She never admitted wrongness. She lied about her role in arguments with my father and making me out to be horrible  and she was sweet. She was not a nice person beneath her smiles, laughs, and she masked that ugly person very well. At her wake I heard all about her bubbly personality. I know we are not all perfect but it's really hard to respect someone who is not perfect when they act like they are, always. 

So, what  was ripped from me when she died? What was that piece I need to reclaim back into myself? Happiness? Forgiveness? What was stolen or was it given? 

Respect is something I never got from my mother. Never. Jealousy, she was jealous of me like no other person on this planet, perhaps the cosmos. She was angry. She broken. My mother was broken but would never admit even to herself she was to blame. She always, always, set that blame out into everyone else. She blamed me, her aunt, my dad, other people. Whatever it was, it was someone else's fault. Being one of the people she blamed angered me. I was blamed for her smoking, it was my fault she couldn't quit. I was blamed for her anger. I was blamed, period. 

I need to forgive my mother. I'm having difficulty doing that. I look at things she purchased and it sits in my home and I'm angry. I'm angry I never got to tell her she was a mean and spiteful person that needed therapy more than anyone else I know on the planet. I wanted to tell her she needed to grow up. She needed to stop being jealous of me and my life. She should take control of herself and not let chaos ensue. I wanted to shake her and scream in her face like she did me but say these words, "To get respect you need to give it, bitch." 

Now, I know stooping to her level would not solve anything. It would only anger her more because it would be my fault, again. You see, I think death was a blessing. I needed peace. She needed out. We both got what we needed. I do feel sad I don't have a mother. The last few years of her life she was trying to atone for her shithead ways without admitting to it. Our relationship did get better but she was still the same old person that never got help. The same person that would snap her fingers and by damn you better jump! She was still the same person that found more pleasure in being out of touch but numb. She was the same yelling, screeching, bossy nutcase that I hated with a passion and loved just as much. 

So what did she take with her when she departed? She took me. She took the person that coward in her presence. She took the little girl with no voice. The person that's feared her most. She sucked that person right out. What she left behind was a person that didn't have a clue how to react, behave, and how to get along in this world without my unstable rock. 

I was given a gift and a curse. I was left without saying my truth and left knowing it doesn't matter now. It's a surreal swirling tidal wave of chaos to swim in. A murky abyss with the unknown. 

I'm getting back on track. I'm thinking about meditating. I chant, not because I think it's magical, but because the rhythmic nature of it all releases tension. It's my verbal meditation. I'm exercising. I'm looking at lifestyle changes in a new light. I'm joining women groups and doing my best to let go, love, go deep, and don't give a fuck about shit that doesn't matter. If it's not a life at stake or the environment, it probably doesn't matter. Case by case matter. 

I think it's time to forgive mom, the wounded broken woman child.