I Understand That She Doesn’t Understand

It has been officially a little over a month since I left home (or was kicked out if you want to be cruel).

I don’t know where my emotions sit at the moment. I miss my mother. I haven’t seen her in the amount of time that I have been away from home. Every time I think about her and my brother I get super emotional. Part of me even wishes things would go back to the way they were.

Will that feeling ever go away? This wave of sadness that I get when I look back on my past and see my family in it, then look to the present and see that they are no longer there?

I know many people would tell me that it will go away, that it will get better and I will feel great about it. But what if I don’t want it to? I feel sort of guilty just thinking of the day I will look back and not feel a thing, or feel happy that I was kicked out. Why is that?

I have heard it all before, I’m so happy I was kicked out that’s how I found myself, my life didn’t really start until I was kicked out, or whatever. What a load of BS. I will never be happy that my mom is not talking to me, I will never be ok that she thinks the worst of me, I will never be ok with any of this.

I love my mother even though she may hate me at the moment. I understand that she doesn’t understand. That isn’t a valid reason to hate her like many people in my situation usually do.

As much as I’d like her to understand, she wont. I have accepted that, but just because I have, that doesn’t automatically remove the hurt.

. . .

Empty, hollow, lifeless.

Those were the words I used to describe how I felt yesterday to a friend. I was numb, my body didn’t even know what was going on, and everything felt foreign. Even while I was unpacking my things at my boyfriends house it didn’t seem real. It felt like when you go on vacation and it doesn’t feel like home but at the same time you know your’re going to be sleeping there for the mean time.

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I got home from work yesterday and that’s when it all started. My mom asked the questions and I answered them. Did I try to defend myself when she was saying things? Did I try to justify my reasons for being gay? Did I try to make her understand? No. I just sat there, for what felt like years, while she said things I will probably never be able to let go.

Every word she said, some how hurt less and less until I just couldn’t feel any more. For a second I almost believe her, and part of me kind of still does.

“Pack your things and leave.”

The one who gave me life, the one who raised me to be the person I am now, the one person I thought I would never lose, I lost. The people that have told tell me that one day she will reach out, one day she will change her point of view. And I do appreciate all the kind words that they say, and how optimistic they seem. But they don’t understand, this woman, the woman who hasn’t had a relationship with her own sisters for more than 20 years because they are not in the same religion, this woman who lives and breathes what the Bible says, this woman, will not take me back.

I will never be able to sit down and have a pleasant conversation with her again. I will never be able to laugh with her again. I wont be able to be around her. She wont be in my life.

I would have loved to be one of those people that say, “well if she doesn’t love me for me then I don’t need her in my life”. But I am not. I love my mom. I will always even if she doesn’t accept me. She raised me by herself and did a great job. I could never complain about her.

This is the only thing that changed things. Maybe if she would have been a terrible mother then this would have been easy. But she wasn’t.

It started to hit me when I dropped my brother off at work. We talked a bit before he went in. Before then I hadn’t cried. Then when I saw him leave it all hit me like a bus. When will I see him? How will my mom treat him knowing that he knew this whole time? How will he cope with her being like that and me being gone?

I told him to please stay in touch. He said he would. And I hope with everything that I have that he wont have it too bad. And I hope that my mom can get over this. I know she wont accept me. I know. But I don’t want her to be hurting.

I don’t know when I will stop crying. But I want it to be soon because my eyes feel like I’m crying melted glass instead of tears.

Sexual Intercourse

lets talk about

Sex. You have it, I have it, like it or not your parents one time had it too, maybe they still do who knows? If they do props to them.

Are you uncomfortable talking about sex? I know some people hate the word but they love the action. I don’t judge, there is a lot of things involved with that word.

I don’t think we should be ashamed of it though. I remember when I was a child and I would be watching something on TV with my parents, when ever there was a kissing scene I would immediately go to the restroom, or I would act as if I wasn’t even paying attention to the TV, uninterested. As if I was going to get in trouble for seeing such graphic scene.

I was raised in a strict Christian home, which is probably why I thought that way. The only time I heard the word sex was at school, at church it was called “sexual intercourse”, which was only allowed when one would marry.

In my opinion sex is great, specially if you are doing it with someone you love and really care about. If you’re having fun that’s cool too, just be safe with your body, you only have one, take care of it.

I think talking about sex shouldn’t be taboo. Sure, you’re not going to sit at your child’s award assembly and brag to the PTA moms how hard Mr. Smith be hittin’ it. There is a place and time for every thing.

If you don’t like to talk about sex that’s fine too. We all have our right to privacy and sex is one of the most intimate things people do. I just think the shaming of people who have a lot of it needs to stop, for woman, and even men.

When you tell someone to stop doing something that they like, they’re only going to do it more, or they’re going to do it out of spite.

So have (safe) sex. Or don’t, it’s always up to you and only you.

 

 

It’s My Fault She Was Hit

My life is like a really bad written soap opera. Who ever is writing the script needs to do a rewrite, because I’m honestly tired. And it’s getting too out of hand.

I was at work when my mom texted me saying that my ex’s mom wanted to talk to her in person. It was rather strange for me. Immediately all the thoughts flooded to my head, did she find out? Did she see something online about me? Did she see me celebrate my birthday?

When you don’t know the facts the mind can be one of the most creative places ever to exist. That’s where my mind went to. My deepest fears.

She then asked if we could talk when I got home. I messaged her yes while I was shaking my head no. Was I about to come out? I prepped myself. What was I going to say? How was I going to tell my side of the story? How was I going to explain it?

I got home and things were more quiet than usual. As if someone sound proofed the rest of the world from our home.

She was ready at the kitchen table. Calm. Gathered. I sat on the other side. She had been crying. I could tell by the way her eyes look. Tired, concerned, and irritated.

What came out of her mouth next was not what I had rehearsed on the drive home.

My ex’s father had hit my ex. Across the face. Bloody nose and everything.

I felt cold. I felt terror. I felt like I should have been the one to take the blow. I deserved it anyway. I put her in the line of Fire. I used her as a road block, as a speed bump, something to help me run and hide from who I really am.

I asked her why. What happened? I could barley manage the words out of my mouth. It was dry. I needed water. I felt faint. I almost threw up.

She told me that she’s been sad ever since our break up. She’d been depressed. She’s been missing.. me. She’s been angry, furious. Why? At who? Her father. Because I put that in her head. Because I told her things weren’t going to work out because her father was too over protective. Because he would never let her spend time with me. Because he would never let me go over. Because he would never let me see her. Because he ruined our relationship.

It’s my fault she was hit.

It’s my fault she took too much and finally screamed her guts out to her abusive father.

It was my fault he didn’t take it well. I turned her against him. I did.

It’s my fault.

I feel like all this time I’ve been carrying gallons of gasoline, but it’s been leaking for the longest time and everything behind me is now catching fire.

When will the fire catch up to me?

Stay Strong Mom

I woke up fifteen minutes before 4 AM in the morning. No alarm, no one woke me up. It was just the sensation that something was different.

My brother has been working night shifts and I am his ride, I have to pick him up at 4:30. Every morning everyday before I go to work. He usually calls me when I have to pick him up, today I was already awake and coming back from Starbucks. I needed coffee, let me rephrase that, I needed sugar.

Once my brother was home and said his goodbyes to my mother we drove to the hospital where her reconstruction surgery was going to take place. She was nervous I could tell. I was calm, at least that’s what I gave off in appearance.

We registered and got her admitted and soon we were speaking to the nurses and doctors regarding the surgery and the procedures. They explained what and how they were going to do it (again), it was pretty raw and gruesome, but that’s the way doctors should be.

Pretty soon I said good bye and watched her get wheeled away and taken. I had a minor flash back of last year when she had her mastectomy. Last year I was in a terrible place. I’m ok admitting that now.

Now I’m in a better place. Nonetheless, I do have emotions, and it is terrifying just being in a hospital in general. I am from Hispanic decent and if you have ever watched a Spanish soap opera, nothing good comes from hospital nurses mouths.

But I can’t think like that. A nurse updated me and said that everything is going well. No issues, just time. A lot of time left. I’ve been getting a lot of support from friends through social media.

I know they care, but is it wrong for me to ignore them? I need space. I need to focus. I need to center myself. With everyone asking and wishing for the best and saying it’s going to be ok is really overwhelming. It kind of screams at me hey your mom is in a intensive surgery that may or may not end her life ! But good luck!

This is not pushing people away. This is me getting myself together before I explode in front of them. I’m not one to break down in front of people, that’s not really my style. I collect myself and move on. If everyone is worried who’s gonna keep me sane?

Anyway I’m rambling now, I continue to hope and pray that the surgery is a success and that everything goes fine. I am nervous but not as much, I love my mom and losing her would be the worst possible thing in the world.

Stay strong mom. I love you.