Just like the song written by REM, I recall the moment I lost my blind faith in anything and everything, especially what I considered to be Christianity. This post is not to establish who is correct and who is going to hell; I’ve dealt with that argument enough within the past five weeks, not to mention my entire life. I wanted to believe that my mother loved me; I wanted to believe every time she came into my life after periodic “No Contact” that she was capable of changing. I now have a piece of paper that proves I’m not crazy and that she absolutely carries mental disorders that make her incapable of taking accountability, therefore incapable of reflection and change.
I went to marine mechanic school because I’m good at analyzing everything, except the motivations of others around me apparently. My mother “convinced me” to leave my daughter with her so that I could concentrate on my studies. I knew deep down that I should not have trusted my mother and I was being coerced in some very unfair ways because I simply did not know how to stand up to a person who always got her way in one way or another. My entire lifeline is riddled with instances where I was used as a vessel for my mother’s own sick, twisted agendas.
If I asked her for an explanation I would never get the one that I wanted. Evil doesn’t have a reason other than destroying good. I will refer once again to the previous comment I made about serial killers and their explanations for their actions. It doesn’t make sense and it never will, not to a person who harbors empathy for other living beings. Sociopaths see everything as an object, especially anything that breathes.
My mother used my daughter to hurt me because I questioned her motives and spoke against her when she married her client who happened to have a net worth of over a million dollars and Alzheimer’s. It sounds like a plot for a movie, and in my life, it felt just as unreal. She stopped letting me talk to her on the phone. I lost all ability to have any say in my daughter’s life, and before I knew it, I was afraid to even try to retrieve her. I knew what she was doing; I knew at that point that she had been working to gain custody of my daughter the entire time. I remember the time that my mother came into the house that I was renting from her and I remember her driving off with my daughter behind a locked door that I couldn’t open. It’s felt like that ever since…seeing my daughter’s face with that look and knowing that, even though she’s inches from me, I no longer have the ability to reach her.
I recall going to church with my mother, when she told me that she had once again found God. I remember the feeling I had when we would sing together. It felt powerful and healing and it was all a lie. When I was fighting my mother in court for my daughter she used all of the things that she did to me, all of those stories, she made me the abuser and my daughter the victim. That was like going through it all over again. The look on the judge’s face, and the judgement thrown my way, infuriating, maddening, and downright defeating. I had nearly given up on life.
When I had really started doing well and was taking care of myself I would take long baths every night after working out and I would listen to music. The portion of the chorus in the song, “Delicate”, by Damien Rice, nearly crushed me. My whole upbringing was centered around Christianity and I lost it as I was hearing the words, “Why’d you sing hallelujah if it means nothing to ya; why’d you sing with me at all?” All this time, everything that was instilled in me, all of the pressure that was put on me to be a perfect Christian…it was all a farce. As my blind faith faded, so did my ability to be 100% about anything ever again.