It’s been 8 days. In those 8 days there’s been nothing but silence and a great big elephant sitting in the middle of the room that refuses to move.
8 days of ignoring and pretending everything is the way it’s always been. 8 days of disconnection, disappointment and aloneness.
I need more from her. So much more than she is willing to give. I need her to fight for me. Be angry for me. To not give up on me and make me feel loved. And wanted. I need all of those things but she can’t help me. She is broken. Damaged in her own self.
8 days of nothingness. Until this morning.
‘What am I supposed to tell your brother?’
‘I don’t care if you tell him or not. Tell him if you want to and don’t tell him if you don’t want to’
‘What about C (his wife)? Can I tell her?’
‘I don’t care. He would probably tell her anyways. The only people you cannot talk to about it are his (my father’s) family because I will not deal with them on this issue at all.’
This is the only conversation we’ve had since the disclosure. Perhaps it is progress and I’m just not seeing it that way but I feel angry about it. She can’t be bothered to have a discussion with me over everything but can’t wait to talk to my brother about it.
I feel so frustrated with her. And exhausted.
She’s now gone for the next week and I’m looking forward to the space it will provide. Space from the discomfort and the heartache. Space from all of the things this life has thrown at me when it comes to my mother. Space to think and plan and get myself into a different place.
Part of me hopes she never comes back. I think part of me would be absolutely okay with that. Because I feel unimportant to her. Unwanted. A great big pain in the arse.
Mostly though, I feel disappointed in myself for hoping things would be different.