Attempt 54
I am not a ma'ma's boy, far from it. Over the past few years I've developed a growing hatred towards the woman who carried & gave birth to me. For those of you who would say “You can't hate anyone! You can only dislike them...” believe me when I tell you that there is a dark void within me and I hate this woman.
This wasn't always the case though, family has always been important to me. Growing up I had a great relationships with my parents and brothers. When I was young my older (half)brother had began his career as a criminal/drug user, a path that he has not been able to shake 'till this day. My younger (biological)brother was just kind of there, an annoyance mostly-as most younger siblings are.
My oldest brother kept hurting my parents with his constant trips to county, this was evident in my mother most of all. She would always tell me what my brother had done, how he got caught and how upset she was with him. I don't know why she would tell me these things but what I did notice was how she was around him, the affection she showed him whenever he was home.
I guess this is where some resentment crept in. While my dad was always there, he was a hard working man who worked odd hours to make sure his family was provided for. So everyday when I came home from school my mother would pull me to the side and tell me the latest gossip about my family and about my brother. While this was the norm I still saw how Anthony was the pride child in her eyes and I suppose I needed to prove something to her? So I acted out, my grades slipped and I created some “Gossip” of my own.
My father caught wind of this and pinned me to the sink with a broom stick saying I had better get my act together. When I tried, my older brother pulled me to the side and began showing me things he had stolen, told me stories about what he did before the police caught up to him. His stories were always full of action and drama, painting him as the hero. In some cases he would tell these stories in front of my mother and she would laugh, congratulate him even offer suggestions on how not to get caught.
While my father was never around for those stories, I learned something. You're only valuable until you get caught. It doesn't matter who you are in this life, so long as you portray someone else for the world to see. So that's what I did. I created a mask to wear in public...then I created another and another and another until I lost myself. I went from great grades to average grades, I became teacher's pet and the all American nice guy when ever I was in front of adults.
But when I was alone, I perfected my art. I wrote stories, not only as an outlet but as a means to cover my ass. If someone caught me saying something I would simply say it was part of a story I was writing. And I had many stories to back this up. So I stole and raced cars, I learned the art of talking to people and how to act according to my environment, I learned to be anyone I wanted to be. But when I came home I always saw Mom, praising her favorite son. Then roughly around ten maybe fifteen years ago my mother's attitude began to change. It was slight at first but every year she drifted from the woman I knew to the monster she is now.
My brother use to bring girls home and so as I got older I did too. Taking them to my room for make out sessions, a thrill or two beneath the sheets. My mother had no shame in telling us that she was wild when she was younger, bonding with my brother's baby ma'ma's over this. I never liked introducing my mother to the women that came to the house for that reason. My brother always liked the easy women, the ones that just threw themselves at him while I focused on ladies who were out of his reach. Then one day I caught my mother saying that my older brother was her favorite son, that her other kids would not amount to him to one of the women my brother had brought home.
So I flipped. Internally I was scared and to this day that scar never healed. My mother hated the women she did meet and the ones she did like were no good for me. Shortly before my mother met my wife. She made a big ordeal about me needing a Puerto Rican girlfriend/wife. Then she met my would be wife and was thrilled. But that changed when my brother began telling her things he “claimed to know” about my future wife. Naturally my mother sided with him. She told my younger brother and I how much she loved our older brother over us. She boasted over him when he was home, favored his children, her grandchildren. Always claiming she wanted a granddaughter since she never had a daughter of her own.
Then I got married and she spat on my wedding, cursed my wife and told me I'd be lucky if my marriage lasted five years. She snapped at my aunt, and cousins when they came to visit and accused my father of having an affair with no viable proof. When the news broke that my wife and I was expecting our first child my dad jumped for joy while she lowered her head in disgust. When I asked if she was happy she told me no. Her anger doubled when I told her we were having not one baby girl but two.
Rather than being happy she laughed saying everything would be double and that my wife and I should not rely on her for help when the children were sick or needed tending to. Mocked me, provoked me and slandered me in front of guests before having my younger brother text me saying she wanted me to apologize to her for being such a horrible son to her all these years. Then told my father, who had a healthy relationship with my wife that he was not allowed to talk to her, text her. NO communication of any kind.
My baby shower is coming up, so I went to my father to ask if he would at least show. He frowned and explained how my mother had him in a tough spot. How he wanted to go but my mother would throw a tantrum If he left the house. My response? My children were going to be his first blood related grandchildren, that I needed him to be at the shower and he looked me in the eyes and said he couldn't. Breaking my heart.
My brother had never been a good father to his children, since he was always in jail, high, searching for a high or running into the bed of any woman that would have him. Right now he's at home, my parents home, trying to say hi to the same kids who don't want anything to do with him. And my mother has the audacity to say it is their loss while placing a motherly hand on his shoulder. When I saw this I left the house that I had called home for nearly twenty years.
Now that place is a cell, created by her.
My younger brother then texts me saying that he was not allowed to go to my baby shower either because my father tried to reach out to her because he wanted to go. My mother when crazy, shouting at them all. Telling them how I was such a horrible son, how my wife was no good, how my kids would never be her grandchildren. But for my own sanity let me compare my life to hers and my older brother.
Older brother:
Convicted felon
Three kids (by two women) who hate him.
Mother:
Trapped in a cell she created
Filled with hate and bile
Separated from her own family.
Me:
Beautiful wife
soon to be father of twin girls
Condo in the suburbs
17+ books written
Known for my work on continents I'll never go
And yet she has continued to hurt me. She has continued to punish me for her resentment. And I keep going back because the slightest part of me wants to believe she'll change back to the woman who I once knew as my mother. But after recent events I know that my mother is dead. She died roughly ten or fifteen years ago and the woman standing in her place has waged war on me and my family.
So now I have chosen to put on a mask I thought I would never have to wear again. I don't lose fights and I don't lose wars. I don't forget those who have done me wrong, never have and I will not forget the atrocities this woman has committed against me and my own and I will have retribution.
Make no mistake, this is not a cry for help. This is not a feel sorry for me, send me chocolates and flowers to cheer me up. This is not a will or last testament. This is a decoration of intent and purpose.
-Osj.
