Nice to be Forgotten

Today I was reminded why I am glad I am no longer a child, no longer forced to be submitted to the chaos and confusion that is otherwise known as my mother. My younger brother is still a child, an eight year old boy at his mothers' side, forced to visit his father's grave every day. He is still there, being convinced that the better choice is to stay at home with his poor pitiful mother that to go to school and get an education.

My brother is so trapped inside that shell of a little boy that the only way he sees out is to take his own life. Today was just another attempt at that. Like times in the past, he was almost successful, but not quite. Like times in the past, my mother is convinced that she is being a good mother and doing the right thing by him. She is a wreck of a person and is continually doing more harm to that boy and everyone else for that matter. She will never see that. She will never see that she is to blame for some if not most of this.

A mother is supposed to nurture, care for , encourage a child. None of that happened in our house. In fact, it was the exact opposite. My sister and little brother bore the brunt of my mother's misguided mothering. Someone I slipped under the radar, went unnoticed if you will.
So, you see it should come as no surprise that my mother called me twice on my birthday; the first call to ask for a bed, the second to ask for a television. Neither time did she have any recollection of my birth. I should actually be happy that she forgot about me because if she "loved" me like she did Chris it might be me lying in the hospital now. I might be the one trying to take my own life trying to escape the distorted reality that she creates. Sometimes it is nice to be forgotten.