The 1 with you

Didn't Care What Was In Your Hair

I failed her. I failed her so many times that I didn't realize and am still realizing. Much shame, all sorry; however, this does nothing to regain any of the previous respect held for me

You'll always fail her. She needs you to keep failing her, though, right now. She wants you in her life. She actually does like you, she needs and wants her mom, her mommy.

Perspective on our relationship has recently been largely shadowed by my relationship with my mom. I don't feel close to her, I don't respect her; honestly, I have never liked her. I wish that I could say differently. I don't think she's a bad person and I try to view her in a positive light.

When remembering something dark or negative, I try to call on childhood memories of her doing sweet things for my brother and I; over a certain time period, our mother would use a black Sharpie pen to write a quick note on our lunch bags, made with brown paper, something like: I [heart shape] you, Tessy! Love, Mom

*perhaps a few additional heart shapes. She made really good heart shapes! I struggle with drawing similar proportions in the 2 halves.

Mom would play acoustic guitar for my brother and I when we were in the bath. She would sing kids songs with us.

When it was particularly cold in our drafty house of earlier youth on Knappton Road in Naselle, Washington, she would put our bath towels in the dryer, and when it was time to get out of the bathtub, she would retrieve the towels and hustle back to my brother and I, who stood shivering with our teeth dramatically chattering, while she wrapped us each in a warm, worn towel.

I believe I've witnessed conscious effort to spiritually, mentally, and emotionally evolve to a better, more personally ideal mindset, personality on her part This is more than pleasing to me; it makes my heart swell up with pride at her resilience and strength, her determination and clarity into what presently is and what she would rather have it be. And that is so awesome, and I am so proud, and relieved, and I know her heart is of light and good energy, I know she wants to be good, to give good, to help create better and more of it.

However, the fact remains that I don't care to spend time with her. Our personalities are quite different and there is a permanent shallowness and judgment, an enjoyment of feeling aesthetically superior, and superior otherwise of course, but particularly in appearance and with regard to sex appeal and desirability, that rubs me the wrong way, deep against the grain for me. It was instilled in me over a decade of frequent, regular attendance at morning and evening church sermon gatherings, Bible study groups, Sunday "leadership" band rehearsals, youth groups, and before-school prayer group, that physical appearance is not how the Lord judges us, and that we should judge each other more like the way the Lord judges, with an instantaneous analyzation of our invisibilities, of our life history of good and bad deeds and selfless service to others.

It has been brought to my attention that the way I view my relationship with my mother is not at all how Krystin Frankie views our parent-child relationship. She enjoys my company, she wants me around even though I fuck up. Not that she wants me to. But I think maybe she knows that I still genuinely truly want for the best for her, for her happiness and safety and comfort. I am so messed up right now and dealing with symptoms that sound like they should be a non-issue, not a problem to deal with, but the fact remains that they are monumental and inexplicable to me, aside from the possibility that my body is literally shutting down at exposure to stressors that affect my emotions whatsoever, even positive changes seem to trigger the illogical, embarrassing, physical and mental stoppage I experience.

Crap I gotta move my car.