The Mom Who Wasn’t There

A couple days after I was released from my 5150, I picked up my phone and called my mom. She didn’t answer. She texted me right away and said she was waiting to get drug tested for a new job. I told her it was important. She said she would text me. Fine.

I told her, “I almost died on Friday.”

She said, “That’s terrible. How? And why wasn’t I made aware of this?”

I told her I was placed on a 5150 for a suicide attempt.

She said, “You need to appoint someone to contact me immediately when this happens. I am your mother and I need to know.”

Oh, are you? I’m sorry. I haven’t seen your fucking face since I was 2 months old. Mother? Do you know what that word means?

The shit hit the fan.

I finally laid in to her. I told her she has not earned the title of mother. I told her to prove to me that she wants me in her life. She fed me the same string of bullshit… “You don’t know how hard this is on me. I want to hold you. I love you. You’re my baby…”

I told her to prove it to me. If she wanted to contact me she would. I told her I’d be blocking her cell phone number.

It’s been two weeks. I haven’t heard from her. She hasn’t picked up a phone. She hasn’t sent a letter. Nothing.

Telling her how I felt was bittersweet. At least I let her go before she could let go of me- again. At least I took abandonment into my own control.

I could sit here and victimize myself… give myself reasons for why I’ll never be good enough, that finally I find my biological mom and she STILL chooses drugs over her daughter, I’m worthless…

But honestly, she is missing out on an amazing daughter.

Fuck it all, though, I’m still angry.

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