My Mother

My mother is like a million people all wrapped into one. She has never been evaluated by a doctor for her problems. All these years, the problems and pain hidden from those who could help. She is basically a recluse, more so when I was young, than now. When I was a kid we were taught to duck and hide if there was a knock on the door. I found it strange to be on the ground, making sure I was not seen or heard. But as with everything else, I dared not question her motive. She did not like people, and especially people over to the house. It was not till I was in highschool that I somehow insisted on having friends over for the night. Those nights were always peaceful, at least for me. No knives, no screaming, no anything, but the silent fear within me about what would happen when my friends left. Then, all hell would break loose....a volcano eruption.

I have often tried to diagnose her myself...schizophrenic, depressive with psychosis, disassociative disorder, bi-polar and so on and on.....She was and is just plain sick. I used to think she was evil...but now as an adult, I can see that she is ill. It took me leaving home at 18 years old to be able to actually allow myself to feel something other than hate and anger towards her. She is my mother, and because of that, I love her.