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GUESTBOOK

I got a package in the mail yesterday. It was addressed to each girl and I from my mother and her boyfriend. I don't know why, but she writes their first names wih his last name. I guess I'm supposed to think they got married and I, *sniff*, was not invited. Note: they aren't married.

So, in the box were three smaller boxes, each to one of us. They were these little fairy figurines. They are pretty, but I don't want anything from her. Some little trinket to acknowledge me, I guess to let me know she forgives me for knowing she's an asshole. I'd guess that the fairies were meant to test the waters and see if I'd call to tearfully thank her and in a true Hallmark moment, forgive her for all her wrongs and agree to let her fuck me over some more. Honestly, it infuriated me. As if some piece of shit trinket would bridge the gap, make me forget all the manipulation and abuse and stealing because oh look! It has pretty wings!

That, she thinks, should fix everything she's done to me because hey, doing shit to Meg isn't that big of a deal. After all, I mean, it's Meg, the little crippled girl who will always have to depend on her mommy. The poor little crippled girl who really can't be left to think on her own, lest she stray from Mommy's desires. The poor crippled girl who really has no business wanting a normal life, because she isn't normal and will never get a decent man to honestly love the burden that is her. I can treat Meg any way I want, because she is bound to me and will never be able to live without me, her mother.

Except that I can. And that kills her. It eats her up that I am not there to be her cross for all to see and think she's so fucking awesome for 'taking care of' her handicapped daughter. And my kids aren't there so she can masquerade as the selfless grandmother, caring for her granddaughters whose poor mother can't, or won't, whichever line works best for her. But the truth is that she, in her fragmented mind, thinks she should have a second chance to raise girls who aren't abused, and she sees my girls as that chance. She thinks I should just blithely give her my kids, as if she's any better able to raise kids now than she was 28 years ago. Her life is different now, but that's not because she pulled herself out of the pits and took control of her life--it's different simply and only because her husband died and the guy she is with now just happens to not be a child molestor. She's done NOTHING to heal from years of his abuse. She's done nothing proactive to restore her sense of self-esteem or to become a better mother than she was to me. She is as selfish and twisted as she ever was and my great sin is not enthusiastically giving her my girls so that history may repeat itself, with the exception that my girls won't be sexually abused.

If being molested were the only damage I had sustained from my younger days, I would not have needed to get this entry out of me before it ate me alive.

design by fergie

Bits of fire in the sky push me east back home. I used to live in flames but it's hard on the wings. Choke me. Smoke me. Scare me back. You try but you just can't. I peel the layers in my spare time, and you're easy to see through. I can fly, I've discovered on my own. I may be the lesser butterfly but my wings are just as strong. Who are you to tell me to find a place to land? I may be the lesser butterfly but baby watch me glide.