I’m just a broken little girl trying to accept that a brick wall is a brick wall and nothing else. It will not become what I need it to be.
For my own record I write this out, stunned, pained, angry with her and angry at myself. I want to vomit.
I told her I feel she has a mean streak and her prejudice comments are hurtful. She passed it off as me being overly sensitive. She said, you hear things louder than other people (PTSD), maybe that’s the problem. I said, I’m sensitive but you are insensitive. You don’t see how your words and your behavior affect others.
When we got in the house I told her that we should try and talk again soon and not leave it where it is. She said, I’d rather do it now. Twice I suggested we wait but she said, no, lets do it now. I said, okay, I’ll put on some tea.
I’m officially and old woman. Sit. I’ll put on some tea. Here’s an afghan.
above written 8:28pm EST
I thought it might be best to go back to our undercurrent, a place she hasn’t thought of in forever, if she knew of its existence at all. We went way back to her being embarrassed that a black woman called her mom in public. She let me do it for three years. I thought I was finally someone’s daughter. I told her that she lead me on. She said, I didn’t want to hurt you. I said, you didn’t you know it would hurt when you told me its because I’m black? She said no. I said, you went on to say you see families one way, black mother and father, white mother and father and that nothing is going to change that. I said, you can’t see how that hurts?
After that comment I became someone from a long time ago who was so lonely she paid a person $30 cash to sit and watch TV with her. I was that girl again. I said to Betty, in my heart I still feel like you’re my mom. Why can’t I be your daughter? I just want to be loved. I want a name. I want to belong to someone. I just need to know I belong to a family unit. She shook her head no and said, I can’t change it.
I said, ya know, loneliness can break a bone. It hurts so bad it can break a bone. A desperate need to be loved is like crawling through a desert on your hands and knees. One illusion is all you need for a little bit of hope to verify that you’re worth loving. She said, I do love you. I said, I don’t doubt that, but it’s love at arms length. And you have told me I’m not your friend. I’m not your friend…and because of my skin color I’m not your family…. it hurts to not have family. I need to belong to someone and I don’t understand why it can’t be you.
She said I’m a private person, and you don’t need to know anything about me. I said, does that go for me, too, do you not need to know anything about me? She shrugged her shoulders and said, you can tell me anything you want. I said, a long time ago you asked me to stop telling you things about my childhood because you don’t want to know. She shrugged her shoulders. I said, and you don’t see how cold this is? You don’t see how your actions, your words can hurt a person?
She said, you’re very sensitive. i said, and you’re one of the most insensitive people I know. I said, so what does this mean? Where do we go from here? She said, I just won’t talk to you. I said, yeah, sure. I said, you’ve put down a barrier, point blank, I don’t need to know you. She reaffirmed that. We aren’t friends but you still want to take me to the store and the doctor? I said, are you just the cab driver now? I sit there and say nothing? She said no, not at all. I just looked at her and thought, my goodness……. you are clueless and I am damaged.
For my part, front and center, I’ve got to figure out how to let this go… not Betty…….that’s gone…..the need to have a parental figure…..I’ve got to let it go. I’ve got to stop crawling through the desert from illusion to illusion.
February 7, 2017