Today was my mother's 66th birthday. I didn't call. I didn't get her a card. I didn't acknowledge it in any way, because it's too stressful for me.
My mother is a paranoid schizophrenic, and I haven't had contact with her in almost 6 years. Before that, I tried desperately to gain her approval; my whole childhood, and most of my adult life. I've learned since then, that I'll never be good enough, smart enough, funny enough. I'm not enough. I've learned since then that you can't reason with crazy. I've learned that it's not my fault my mother can't love me. I've learned that it's not okay to treat a child the way I was treated. I've learned that no matter how much you want to have a normal family, it's not possible for everybody.
I sometimes wonder what I would be like if I had normal parents. If I had parents who loved and wanted me. I wonder what I could have became if I was told I was smart, pretty, funny, wanted and loved. I wonder what it would have been like to have a carefree childhood where I didn't worry about my mom leaving me because she never wanted kids. If I hadn't had parents that found my very existence to be a burden. If my parents had wanted custody of me when they divorced rather than fighting over who had to take me. I wonder if I would be less self destructive. I wonder if I would have learned to love myself. I wonder if I would have learned to demand better treatment of me by others. Instead, after 37 years, I continue to let people treat me as if I'm disposable. After all, my parents taught me I am.
I used to worry that I would grow up to be crazy like my mother. Luckily, the paranoid schizophrenia becomes apparent in your mid to late twenties, so I dodged that bullet. Hey, at least I dodged one, right?