There is one thing that I don’t talk about. That is my relationship with my mother. If and when I do, it’s on very rare occasion, and usually after a few glasses of wine and only if someone asks me about her. To most, I simply say the words “Oh, my mom and I don’t have a relationship,” and that is that. Then to a select few, it’s a little bit more, but I’ll shut it down right before I really start to feel.
I have have been sitting here staring at a blinking cursor for a solid three minutes now, as I am trying to figure out just what this essay is or will become. I honestly have no idea. There is so much to say, but I won’t say it. What I will say is that I read a book a couple of years ago and it completely changed me. It opened my eyes in regards to some of the people in my life. Three in particular. One being my mother and the other two being “good friends”. The book helped me understand why these people in particular had a certain power over me. These people could make me feel like there was something dying in my heart and in my soul. They could say one thing and send me into an immobilizing darkness that would last a week or more. They could make me doubt myself and all that I know to be good that surrounds me with just a few piercing words or lack there of. Two of these people are no longer in my life. They are a part of my story and for that I am thankful.
There goes that cursor again.