Wednesday, October 8, 2008

The Green-Eyed Monster


My father never laid a hand on me or my siblings. In fact, he would beat my mother for physically disciplining me. Twisted? Yes. My mother actually told me one day that if I ever revealed to my father that she hit me, the beatings would get worst. The threat was real and I was cornered from all sides. This is why I mentioned in one of my earlier entries that because the family was a dysfunctional one, the roles were all confused. My father was the terrorists, my mother was the victim and my assailant at times and I was the victim and fly on the wall. I forgive my mother for the beatings because she was all screwed up from my father’s brainwashing. Don’t get me wrong, she did treat me like a loving mother for the most part. But sometimes, I was her competition.

My father would purposely give me attention that should be given to a wife. He would supply me with whatever toys I wanted, he would take me on tours throughout NYC, he would even take me along with my mother to restaurants every single Valentines Day. My mother thought she had no say in the matter. My father would also call my mother derogatory names in front of me like, pig, dumb dog, stupid a--. Then he would turn around to me with the advice, “Don’t be like your mother you hear.” My mother would then proceed to drop her head down in shame. So my father created a place for jealousy to be bred and fed between the greatest most natural bond in my opinion that exists: the relationship between mother and child. Now I see the situation clearly. He was jealous of my mother – period.

My mom finished school in another country, so she wanted to get a High School diploma in the United States. I watched her study diligently after work while my father walked around her and called her stupid and told her she would never pass the tests. Well my mother tuned him out for once and passed those tests. I was so very proud of my mom. She framed her diploma and hung it in our living room with great pride. Every time I passed, I would watch it like a work of art in the museum. But of course, my father took it down and threw it on the ground and told her that he didn’t want that ‘piece of garbage’ in his house. She put it up again the next day and he took it down again and beat her. I didn’t see her put it up again after that. So, I know for a fact that my father and other abusive insignificant others are jealous of the one they are abusing.

If my mother were alive today she would say, “What? Jealous of me?” But yes. She couldn’t see through her cloud of self-hatred (manufactured by my father) that she was worth so much. So much so she was priceless. At her funeral, her co-workers got together and rented two Greyhound buses to pack with people who wanted to attend the services. They didn’t just go to the funeral, the buses also drove to the burial site. I have never seen Greyhound buses filled to capacity rolling into a cemetery before. The buses were just a part of the endless line of vehicles filled with people who my mother touched. I don’t remember many things from the whole funeral and burial process but I do remember the buses and saying to myself, “And mommy said she didn’t have any friends.”

When she was alive she thought she wasn’t worth anything because my father reprogrammed her into thinking that she wasn’t. All of God’s creations are worth something. We are so valuable that we are priceless! Don’t let anyone try to make you believe that you are not. Hold your head up high and believe within yourself that you are priceless. This is the only way you can make that move by any means and leave the abusive situation. Right now, I love myself for everyone who doesn't love me. People don't have to love you, but they will have to respect you for the love that you have for yourself. If they do not respect you, they do not respect themselves, thus they do not deserve to be in your presence. Believe that! The love that you have for yourself will without a doubt cause some to be jealous, but let them be jealous from distance.

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