Today I learned that Lorraine is dead.
For those that know me, you are sitting back with your hand over your mouth saying "whoa".
For those that don't... in a nutshell, I grew up in an adopted family. My mother, Lorraine, was a drunk. She was abusive on every level except sexual. My childhood was horrific, which lead to a tumultuous teen life. Which led to teen pregnancy. Which lead to being disowned.
I stalked this family for 17 years. I sat outside of their home, wishing I could go up to the front door, knock and have her open the door, open her arms, enfold me, and say she was sorry, and that she really DID love me. I wrote letters and received no responses. I apologized for being such a rotten child. No response. I asked for the opportunity for us to get to know each other on a new, adult level. No response.
I found my birth mother 10 years ago. About four years ago, I stopped thinking of them all the time. I stopped sitting outside their house on Christmas day, hoping they would see me and invite me in (how pathetic am I?). Craning for a glimpse... just a glimpse... of someone, anyone.
Today I learned that she died a year ago. Cancer of the liver. Well, the doctors call it cancer. I call it Karma.
But this is not about her. This is about me. I always wondered how I would feel at this moment. Would I cry? Would I be devestated? Would I laugh and rejoice? How does one feel when a mother, who is a stranger, who hates you, whom you loved, whom you hated, dies?
Apparently one is numb. I feel... withdrawn. I don't want anyone to touch me. I'm not... mourning. But I'm not okay, either.
Regrets... do I have any? Not with her. I tried. Repeatedly. She shunned me absolutely. I am not sad that she is gone. I am not happy about it, either. That's not who I am.
The only thought that has brought tears to my eyes so far is that "it's over". I will never ever have that womans love or approval. And yes, I know, I don't need it. It's not about that. Please, no trite comments. I'm baring my soul here...
The little girl in me, that clamoured to be loved... she is mourning. The hopeful young woman who wrote a letter, asking forgiveness and to be brought back into the family, then mailing it away and eagerly checking the mail every day for weeks as the hope of a response died with each day that passed. She is mourning.
The strong happy woman today, she's looking at this and shaking her head, thinking it's okay, I'll take care of you. You have me now.
That's all I got right now. I may be back.
If you have issues, or baggage, you may be offended by what you read here. I work through my self loathing of my own fat, and my own fat issues, and I’m told this comes across as loathing all fat people. That is simply not the case.
Here I talk about my issues and my findings, without political correctness. I am not concerned with your issues, or your baggage, or what you may take from this. The title is "My Journey".
This blog is not meant to inspire anyone. I take no responsibility for what you take away from here. You are here as a guest into my inner thoughts.