Reality

I don't really know why, but i just re-read an email my mom sent me last year, when i was living with her after my accident. I never wanted to read it again after the first time, because it shows just how much she lost every grip on reality!

In this letter she accuses me of being so depressed she has to worry about me and how she thinks i'm not able to take care of myself anymore and how she thinks this might be her fault. And how sad she is that i don't do anything because, in spite of her constant backaches, she still does all the chores and goes for a walk and everything..

Truth is none of this could be farther away from reality!! From what I've seen in the two months I've been there last year, all she does is lying on the couch watching Tv because of her pain. Yes, she does go out sometimes, but not much.

When i read that letter the first time, i was really shocked. I didn't understand who she was writing about, because, even though i might have had good reason too, i was not depressed!! But, to make perfectly sure it wasn't true i asked around. I didn't know very many people in Berlin, but i asked the ones i was seeing almost every day: my doctors and physical therapists, my sister and friends i was talking to on the phone. I asked them if i seemed to be depressed, and every one assured me that, in spite of all that had happened, i was the opposite of depressed!

I didn't bother to answer that email, because it felt so ridiculous.

Every word in the letter felt like I should have written it to her.

I guess that's when i finally realized that there is something completely wrong about the way my mom sees the world. Thinking about it she has always lived in her own reality, where she was the center of the universe! I never realized it before, but when i started thinking back to my childhood i found more and more evidences how selfish and self-centered she could be sometimes.

She never really acted like a mom.. she acted like a roommate.. One i needed to take care of.. She just came to me to cry her eyes out... and i hated it so much... hated..her. I know i shouldn't feel that way about my mother... I hated myself for hating her... but i couldn't help it.. it was soo disgusting when she came to my room crying for hours and hours..

I don't know when it really started, but i remember that even when i was little i never really wanted to be alone with her.. There would have never been a family study night if i hadn't insisted for a sister to help my mom with it. I hated the idea of a study night with just my mom. Although i didn't know why. At that time i was only 6 or 7 years old.