The last month or so, I have been taking writing classes. Grit Uplifted has been an amazing group that has been challenging me. This is my way of flushing the past. Through writing. This exercise was something that I have struggled while writing. If you see the options, I chose to do it and base it on my biological mother. This is another of my most personal pieces to date. Hope you enjoy <3
GRIT UPLIFTED EXERCISE : OCTOBER 21st/ 2017
WRITING PROMPT: Write an exercise from a HE/She or They perspective.
The OPTIONS were
1. A parent seen differently through the eyes of his/her son or daughter
2. Someone suffering from insomnia
My mother. She is quite a complicated character, and yet, I took most of my characteristics from her.
I don’t have a relationship with her, but when I saw her last she told me that she despises me because I am the mirror reflection of her.
She was the performer at Ryerson University in the late 1970s. The Latin Queen and star of West Side Story in a theatre production.
She was the empath for all her friends who were dying of HIV at the time. (IRONY would bring it, that I would be diagnosed HIV+ last summer, and yet she hates me with a passion)
She is a child psychiatrist. And she gave me the gene to care out everyone else, but myself. Only she is the opposite; she cares more about herself than everybody else.
I know my stepfather told me about why she now hates/despises my LGBT culture. She caught grandfather in bed with another man. Grandfather then abandoned Grandma and my mom, and the generational trauma began. He went into a domestic partnership with his partner in the 1970s.
When I met my mother in 1993, I thought she would be a nurturing mother. But she was definitely not. She was the second person in my life who would be all about greed and power, and she would continuously “murder” me inside like a female rabbit slaughtering its babies.
Last time I saw her was at my sister’s funeral in September of 2017. She bitched at me and my sister-in-law. Called me and my sister “abominations” She gave me a spiel about how I was a disgrace for transitioning.
And yet, I kissed her hand and forgave her to get closure. I told her in her face and in front of 300 relatives that she was the worst mother for using me as her first-born to gain fame, making me a milk-carton and getting my baby bonus benefits to give education to her other children. That was the first time that I ever got closure for a loss in my life.
Her characteristics and attitudes may be instilled in me, but I know that I am not fully “her.” I’m better than “her.” She may have the wealth and luxuries, but she doesn’t have the concept of respect and dignity down.