Same Old Love
This post is potentially triggering.
While Selena Gomez’s latest song is about a significant other1, it hit home for me and made me remember my mother, who I sometimes think about these days, though not too much. The feelings described in the song are the ones my mother made me feel, and it expresses quite well how sick of it all I am.
Selena said, in an interview, “I’m just so sick of it,” and the repetitiveness in the lyrics of Same Old Love display that well.
Almost an entire decade of my life has been devoted to figuring out why my mother is the way she is and why her husband, lard, is the way he is. I’ve read psychology books, including two textbooks—one at least twice. I wouldn’t call it a special interest, but more of a thing I needed to know. The mind is such a complex thing, and I crave the why, or at least the how, for anything I don’t understand but find beneficial to me to understand. Otherwise, I can neither accept nor cope with it, which results in me forever having angst about it.
Diagnosing my abusers for my own peace of mind helps me comprehend the fact that I cannot change them, they likely won’t change, and it’s not my fault. The latter is something I’ve struggled with over a lifetime and sometimes continue to feel to this day. Anyone can tell that to me like it’s a fact, but without proper analyses, the so-called “fact” lacks worth for me.
Lard may be a psychopath…or a sociopath; I’ll leave it up to the professionals to decide. Everyone is below him, and therefore worthless. Alternatively, he’s just a manipulative bastard who gets off on abusing children and having as much power as possible. Abusers don’t necessarily fill any diagnostic terms, unfortunately. However, I don’t believe he has empathy, as I truly believe he would be able to kill someone and feel no remorse. I don’t know what else could justify his actions. I wouldn’t be surprised if, sometime in the future, a murder investigation led to police knocking on his door and taking him in for questioning. Unfortunately, that would probably also lead to me being questioned, which…eh, as someone with a phobia of law enforcement due to my upbringing, that sounds terrifying.
My mother is a narcissistic bitch. I’ve yet to find whether there is a relation between narcissism and bipolar disorder, but I don’t care. Her neglect and abuse points mostly to narcissism; the few instances of her physical abuse points to bipolar disorder, which only happened because her demonic husband cheered her on…seriously, who the fuck cheers on an adult beating up a child?
Moving on, the song.
My relationship with my mother consisted of a lot of push-and-pull. She only liked me when I had something to offer her, when I revolved my world around her, when I depended on her. My mother couldn’t place me up for adoption, because other family would have just raised me instead, so she kept me. She didn’t actually want me for a reason beyond her own selfishness.
A lot of family members will tell me my mother did want me, but I’m confident it’s because, according to general society, all mothers want their children. However, those of us who have seen the not-so-pretty version of “mothers” know this isn’t true—we know not all mothers want and/or love their children. My mother and lard believed kids should be more than happy to serve their parents, thus deeming children who want to do their own thing as “disrespectful” and “ungrateful”, therefore unworthy of their parents’ love. Only when I was useful or my mother wanted attention was I able to spend time with her.
That’s not love.
I’m really sick of it. It makes me hurt and cry and weak, and it’s so unhealthy.
There’s a split in my already divided families, as my parents divorced when I was young, but the one between my mom and I is somehow bothersome to others in the same unit. I’m so sick and tired of making up excuses for her, talking about why she is the way she is and/or does what she does, worrying about the well-being of my siblings2, being told to “be normal” (i.e. be what others want me to be so I can do whatever is convenient for them), and feeling as though my wants aren’t important.
I’m on the path to living my life the way I want it. Everything my mother made me out of her own selfishness is being stripped. Everything lard tried to brand into me is being stripped. My first name is just one of the many things to go.
Last time I tried to sever ties with my mother, I caved after two years, because I needed to know if we could ever have anything. Now, I know we can’t have any healthy relationship. I can’t personally change that without compromising myself and own well-being, which comes first in my life. After three years of not seeing my mother, I’ve finally accepted her not loving me, and I can say I accept it with genuine confidence…because it’s not my fault. I’m not at complete peace, but I’ve accepted it. I am good. I realised I love the idea of the motherly bond I wanted to have with her, but not who she actually was; I don’t know what I feel about her, but I realised I neither miss nor love my mother.