Life Of An Imposter: Part 3

This post is the most personal thus far and is one that I've been struggling with posting.  Instead of giving any long explanation of the complicated relationship I share with my mother, I am instead choosing to put out a selection of  letters in a series I wrote to my mom during a 5 year period when we were estranged.  We are now speaking again and have come to some sort of understanding about the relationship we are able to have at this point in our lives, but it is not what I wish it would be nor is it what she would like either I am sure.   These are letters that I wrote for myself and have only been seen by a couple other people so it is scary for me to let them go out into a world where they will be judged and I won't have control over the memories anymore, but that is also what I am seeking...a chance to let some of this go.  So here it is, another attempt to explain my Imposter Syndrome and how it is linked to how I grew up--it is not direct by any means but I hope I am getting closer to finding a way to explain this feeling that follows me and slowly become more free from it.

#1

4-1-08

She is right down the highway, east and a little to the south.  I know her doorway, her broken windows that refuse to open, her flowers and lilac bushes she planted herself—stolen but hers. Her smell.  Cat fur flying, smoke lingering in the air—motionless.  House filled with things that tell you something about the woman who lives there.  A tight box.  Suffocating.  Can’t breathe here.  Ashes and Patchouli.  Laughter. Stories told with full gestures and such clarity it is like you were there.  Bitterness. Anger.  Loss.  Hammer to skin.  Black and Blue.  The knife out of the drawer.  The big one.  Point in her soft belly.  Stopped.  Barely in time.  Dust lingering, being tossed around this way and that, never to settle the same way again.  Screaming. Begging. Confusion.  She can’t breathe.  Violence from angles I never imagined—though I should have known. I should have known. Threats or reality?  Those eyes.  Who is right?  What can I do?  Fear.  Am I still here?  Numb with tears—tears for who?

Just one button on my phone straight to her ear.  That’s how quick—how close she is.  Lost the connection.  Barriers as thick as the blackest fog.  Impossible to see in the dark, I wasn’t born that way.  Where is my phone?  I hope I don’t find it.  I still know the number by heart.  Can’t get through, can’t bring myself to try.  Frighteningly comfortable with the lack of noise, chaos, promises of death, and eccentricities.  Everything seeming so grand—larger than life when really she is more like a mouse, searching for a crumb in hopes of being filled.  Bottomless hole—black and unrelenting.  Feed me.  It is never enough.

#2

4-1-08

I want to die.  Tell me it is okay to go.  I have no reason to stay here.  I’m in so much pain.  Please.  Just say I can go.  You don’t need me anymore.  I have no purpose.  It’s not fair to make me live just for you. 

Please don’t die.  I need you.  I love you.  I can be your purpose.  I will do more, be more.  Just stay.  I will save you.  I’ve done it so many times before.  I’ll list the reasons to live.  But I can’t think of many.  Is it selfish to want you to stay?  Or if I’ve thought about how much simpler life would be without you—without this?  Oh god!  Maybe I should just let go.  Let you fall into the dark.  Heart broken into pieces of glass that fill your lungs and let the air out slow, like a balloon with a small leak.  You can almost hear the sound of the deflation, the fading rasping of life passing you by.  An ending. 

It has to end somehow.  Somewhere.   Sometime.  I can’t think of any more answers.  I can’t give you any more reasons.  What will happen if I am not here to save you—surely you will die.  You will die and I will be to blame.  You have said as much.  I did leave you to freeze to death on the shores of a creek out in the middle of nowhere.  Out of gas, out of touch, wanting to be found but you are lost.  Alone.  Your greatest fear yet one that you create over and over again.  Proving to the world that you are unworthy.  No!  You mean so much.  I should’ve done more. 

I understand.  You are too fragile for these things.  You have never been strong enough.  I forgive you. 

Have you forgotten all we’ve been through?  All the ways I tried to be everything for you?  Your mother, your child, your friend, your partner?  You hate me either way and love me every way.  How can that be? 

I am a burden to you.  You would be better off without me.  You don’t even want me around anymore.  You don’t need me.  You aren’t the same person--as me. 

I am not the same, I admit it.  I am myself and you are you.  That is okay, isn’t it?  The way it’s supposed to be?  At least that’s what I thought.  Why can’t you see it?  I know.  I really do know.  But we are both feeling this gut-wrenching pain—a baby taken from its mother.  Primal.  I’m so sorry. 

#3

4-1-08

What do you write about a mother lost?  Too much time to think.  Too many memories attacking my brain.  I feel like crying, but I’m not sure I have tears left for this.  How can I be your daughter now—if you can not be my mother?  Why do you have to be so good and so bad?  I want to be angry at someone.  It’s not your fault.  It’s not mine.  It just is. 

How can I explain this to people?  It isn’t a matter of will to change on either side—it isn’t a lack of love.  There must be a solution.  No one can tell me what it is.  I want no part of it all but still I ache for what I can not have, what you have given me and what you can not.  I feel so guilty.  Blood on my hands.  Abandoned.  A child who only wanted a mother who loved her unconditionally.   I thought she did.  Didn’t realize she couldn’t.

#4

8-26-06

I don’t like when it’s quiet

Your absence gets much louder

Too busy to cope

Too still to stand.

You’re probably sleeping

Maybe on the couch

Fallen asleep to the t.v.

Snoring and restless

Grinding teeth, fitful dreams

Your sweet scent filling the room

Patchouli, lavender, and mom.

Mom.

Your breath is slow

You hold it now

Savoring the oxygen

Are you okay?

I’m sitting here killing myself too.

Why?

Identification with you?

One last thing to hold in common.

One way to be near you—like you.

Making my own destiny—it’s out of my control?

It’s not—but yours is.

I can’t take that.

It makes me cold.

Freezing.

I wish…

I hope…

I can’t stand the quiet.

#5

8-26-06

I am getting closer,

To being far away

Or moving in

to crack open the door.

Peaking inside

Fearful and shaking

All of my hope in a sliver of light.

How can I be so scared of someone I love so much?,

Know so well.

I wanted it to be okay.

I want it to be okay.

Can I be safe with you?

Can I keep myself safe?

I don’t know.

I am not so strong anymore.

Not in that way.

I can’t fight now.

Can you accept that?

Please…