EMMJAY

So she can say anything she wants to me in terms of personal insults, punishment and threats. The second I do so much as respond to one of my mother's rhetorical snide remarks as means of defending myself, I get punished. I ask why and I get punished again. So by trying to seek justification, I instead get "privileges" taken away, chores or slapped. Then somehow she claims that what what ever I've expressed about my disregard for the situation is abuse and calls up her mom or her friends and plays victim. Yet if I try to obtain a healthy conversation with a third party to ease myself in the heat of the moment and maybe regain some self-esteem after having it all shat on by who I am convinced is the devil incarnated, all of a sudden I'm "betraying" her and am subject to even more punishment. All because I'm the kid and shes the parent. How democratic.

What the hell is wrong with this woman!? I'm really surprised that I don't have some serious mental disorder having been raised by her. But in a way, I feel as though I've raised myself. Weeks can go by and I don't even remember I have a father and yet this is at the front of her mind constantly and she frequently regenerates reasons it's my fault he left her. She yells at me every day. I end up a crying mess every night. Sure I'm not a child soldier in Africa or what ever but I have a hell of a lot more reasons to be self loathing than most of the kids I know who perpetuate themselves in self-proclaimed depression. And yet I'M NOT. I'm a genuinely happy and carefree person until my mom comes along and tears me down like this. Maybe thats my mental disorder. Maybe I should have killed myself ages ago. Maybe its hopeless for me after all and I've just been lucky enough to ride through the turbulence thus far. I don't want to wait for her to realize she has a great kid after all.

Despite the stress and struggle my dad has caused by leaving, I respect him so much for getting away from her while he could. As for me? I'm the kid.

So I guess she’s decided that it’s not worth saving face around our family anymore either. Even while entertaining, she thinks she can still somehow get away with yelling at me about my faults as a human being and why I have no right to see my doctor when I can clearly feel something wrong with my teeth because then she will have to take a day off work and loose a day’s pay and then she goes on and on about how for this reason, I have completely ruined her career. So then my Grandma stands up to my mom and tells her that the way she treats me is wrong only to get kicked out and isn’t to set foot on our property ever again. I hate living with this woman. I hate not being able to talk things through and instead having to take more verbal abuse from somebody who has no idea what they’re talking about.

Happy Mother’s Day.

If you’ve taught me anything, it’s how to endure hell.

So it starts off like so with the usual cast of characters: La mama, and I.

I’m sewing away at Pudding’s cosplay in my basement on my sewing machine (2006 model) just as I had been for the majority of my afternoon between making periodic rounds upstairs to replenish my waning aspartame to body matter ratio. About two hours into this, mama totes up her sewing machine (1979 model) to sew some frumpy interior décor item upstairs.

As my luck would have it, on my next escapade to the refrigerator I was so warmly greeted by the woman who brought me into this world with a statement which was as full of sarcasm as it was lacking in intelligent syntax: “Thanks a fucking lot Maryjane. You fucked up my machine you fucking little spoiled brat.” Now me (being both naturally classy and anything but in the mood to put up a common quarrel), humored her by pleading my case which was that I had indeed not seeing as a)I have had my own sewing machine for over a year and a half and would thereby hinder any desire to even touch hers, b)her sewing machine is almost thirty years old or c)maybe she never sews and just forgot how to.

Despite my suggestions for her to find success in something, she then starts flirting with concept of engaging me in a battle of wit (or in her case, empty and meaningless threats and character insults strung together by four letter utterances) which I stress again for emphasis, I have no interest of pursuing. So she starts off the typical routine with a bit of “You’re such a fucking selfish little teenager” and then starts into how good her life was before having me and how I “leave a bunch of fucking shit all over the fucking house and I’m so fucking tired of seeing all your fucking shit Maryjane” which at the same time I’m countering with a stand-in for my debatory zeal (“I’m sorry that you feel that way”) all at the same time of finishing what ever task I was engaged in at the time to go back downstairs to where I had hoped to linger in the more favorable (and solitary) alternative. Keep in mind that nothing I say is in rage or passion from this whole “argument” (well that was what she was looking for; whether it was achieved or not is still negotiable) and that everything I said was as an immediate response to not provoke any further argument. Then she brings in to the whole squabble that I don’t wash the dishes (you see, she really is just trying to pick a fight with me here for some extra power points. It has sweet NOTHING to do with the sewing machine at all) and as I say with unconcealed sarcasm “Nooo, because that’s women’s work.” and next thing I know I have an angry slobbering woman pinning me into the couch, trying to bring a hot iron towards my face to scald me and then she pulls out her lighter even closer to me and starts lighting sparks to intimidate me or something.

So then she starts taking privileges away from me because she wants her power back and has no control over her life and therefore seeks to control me. “If the transit workers go on strike, I’m not driving you” Okay. “And you’re paying for your physics tutor too you stupid little bitch!” Fine. ”You can buy your own medicine now. I'm taking those pills so you can’t waste my fucking money any more” I can live with that. “You aren’t getting your fucking hair done tomorrow- I AM” That’s okay, yours probably needs it more than mine anyway.

BAM. Coat hanger thrown at me.

BAM. Pinned up against my closet door and the window while getting trusted against them as she tries to make some baseless point clearer to me.

Then of course she revokes the trip to Japan that I’ve been saving up for to go to for the past year and looking forward to going on since grade seven. Oh as well as my phone revoked for getting such a “bad” report card where I improved by at least ten percent in all my core subjects (well actually more seeing as the latest assignments weren’t included and I pretty much owned the snot out of those) so I told her that I would surrender my phone under the condition that she would listen to just one sentence I had to say instead of immaturely mocking my voice every time I had something to say (such an animated gesture really does exist so it seems) What I wanted to say was something around the lines of “I think you need to see a counselor or at least talk to a neutral third party because I understand that you have a lot of stress but conveying all your pent-up anger towards me is not only extremely degrading to both of us but creates a lot of unnecessary tension that neither one of us needs right now. Please talk to someone.” But instead, I get my arms jerked around as she tries to pull the phone out of my hand until she has me in something of a submission (I become overpowered by her tremendous girth in other words) where she pretty much snaps my wrist thus making me have to surrender one of my few connections with the life outside of this one.

She needs some self control before she tries to control me by revoking privileges and constantly reminding me of them so that she can get me hot and flustered so that I do something regrettable so she can hold it against me. I know better than to play her little games but at the same time, I’m getting things I feel I have earned taken away from me. I know that all the things she excretes about me are not true (she doesn’t know me at all although she claims that after tonight, she does) and the fact that I’m not an emotional wreck over her petty insults and paltry attacks like she wants me to be drives her crazy. For once in my life, I’m happy despite all she’s put me through and I fear she will stop at nothing to try to revoke it from me.

As I have mentioned so very many times before, I would expect in any situation to be treated with respect from my mother but even though I have almost come to accept that that’s clearly not going to happen, I still think that somehow it’s not too much to ask that I’m treated with such when I’ve just gotten dental surgery. But I guess as usual I’m wrong. I’m not even worth that.

Last night I was on the phone with Benson until just a bit after midnight when he let me go because he wanted me to get some sleep so I could recover properly and what not. My mom had just gone to bed about twenty minutes prior to me having said goodbye. Then I remembered that I had hooked up my iPod to the computer to update my playlist so I would have some music to listen to before I went to sleep so I shouted up to her something to the effect of “I’m going to go get my iPod and shut down the computer and then I’ll go to bed!” and was replied to with “Damn you Maryjane, I was asleep!” Typical. But if it takes her twenty minutes to get to sleep, it’s safe to assume that she would fall back into slumber immediately afterwards.

So I get downstairs to my computer and my iPod is frozen on the ‘Do not disconnect’ screen and I do everything which my hopeless computer permits me to do and then as it so often does, it decides to crash which I then have to reboot and after the same thing happening a good three or four times I start to panic because I have no idea how long the backlit message has been plastered across my (rather expensive) new toy’s screen and I’m worried that it’s going to be burned on permanently and all the while my mother is overwhelming me by yelling this and that and what ever at me about how I need to get off the phone (which I had been for at least half an hour) and how I need to get to bed and how I should get off the computer and stop “talking to perverts” this late at night and through tears I try to yell back up at her that I’m trying to fix something that needs to be fixed immediately or it will be permanently broken and trying to explain what’s going on but because she has about as much technical knowledge as she does sympathy, she keeps yelling at me and insulting me and all the while I have to try to yell over her (something really fun to do when you can hardly talk without slurring your words, let alone talk at all, let alone open your mouth) and finally I yell up at her that it feels like my stitches are breaking and that she should just LEAVE ME ALONE SO I CAN DEAL WITH THIS AND THEN GO TO BED WHEN EVER I’M DONE, KAY? But of course not, then in her uncivilized ways she starts screaming at me (at this point she is still upstairs in bed, emphasis on how barbaric she is in her methods of communication) about, quote: “What the fuck is your problem? I know that Benson is doing nothing but screwing you around and your phone calls have to stop because ever since you’ve started talking to him, you’ve become even more of a spoiled little emotional wreck and no man should have to ever deal with you.”

So eventually I fix my iPod (no thanks to mother, thank-you) and run upstairs to bed but am now greeted by a mother at the kitchen table whose smoking and about to lecture continue to scream at me on how I’m sixteen and that men are only out there for themselves and that Benson is no different and only wants to sexually exploit me and that I’m a common, attention starving whore which is why she wants me to never talk to him again because she doesn’t want to have to deal with the emotional run-off that comes with me “having a sexual relationship” with a man whose just going to stab me in the back anyway and leave me with a bunch of ungrateful little children who act just like me. FOR CHRIST SAKE HOW WRONG YOU ARE WOMAN. Why does she assume that I want to pursue a sexual relationship with all of my male friends? She even went right out and said that I’m predestined to be needy because I don’t have a father. Just because she married some coke addict loser and got stuck with a kid and never re-married doesn’t mean that genetics will lead me to face the same doom. Just because she isn’t happy doesn’t mean that she should have to go to any lengths to remove the outlets of happiness in my life. She should be happy that I can have positive, healthy, platonic, NON-SEXUAL relationships with people and not condemn me for finding someone who makes all the pain that she causes go away. I keep telling her that Benson and I are not by and means dating and yet she still persists to ruin things between us. I understand quite well that having invested too much emotional commitment to somebody during your teen years only complicates things but when I’m in a happy relationship with somebody and she comes along and interferes with everything we’ve worked so hard to build up till there, it’s worse and probably harder to come to terms with.

Not to mention that my mouth really hurts right now.

So I slept in until two today because I didn’t want to have to be forced to offer empty apologies to her all day as she expects every time. About two hours ago when my mom was out, my aunt phoned and started to leave a message and I picked up because part of why she was calling was that she wanted to know how I was recovering (one of my favorite things is how both my aunt and Benson care about my recovering, but my mother completely fails to) so we talked for a good twenty minutes in what was a pretty relaxing conversation and then my mom comes home and starts yelling at me over something so I pardon myself from the conversation from my aunt and tell my mom that I was on the phone and that her sister wanted to talk. Then I hear my mom yelling at her over some borrowed money (lent to my mother of course because that’s all her family means to her) and then saying something to the effect of “Well I’m so fucking sorry for waking you up last night but it was that little bitch’s mouth that was bleeding and I just called you because I didn’t know what to do!” Yes. In fact, my mother cared so much about my mouth the night before that she didn’t even come downstairs to check to see how much it was at all (note, I only said that it FELT like it was bleeding because I had to scream over her), she didn’t give me any suggestions and didn’t even acknowledge it when I said it (like she always fails to acknowledge anything I ever say worth hearing) and yet she wakes up my aunt at what she claims to be three o’clock in the morning (what ever gets her pity, she stays up all night anyway) but was really more like two and then next thing I hear is her slamming down the phone.

“Thanks a fucking lot Maryjane! You’ve just cost me my relationship with my sister! We used to be friends but noooo, you went and fucked us up too because that’s all you ever do; when you aren’t fucking up your relationships, you’re fucking up mine you self-centered little pig! It shouldn’t be me who’s apologizing to your fucking aunt, it should be you! Now you call up and say you’re sorry for upsetting me enough to call her.”

“I don’t see why I should.”

Mother continues here little tirade, threatens to take away my cell phone if I don’t and then starts trudging down the stairs like she so often does before she comes to attack me so I’m left no choice but to leave the following message on my aunt’s answering machine:

“My mom is having problems taking responsibility for her own actions but she has threatened me if I don’t call you to say that I’m sorry for her having called you last night and having woken you up which I still fail to understand why is my fault but I don’t want her to hurt me so I have to call you and-”

And then my mom picks up the phone and starts making an even bigger ass of herself by yelling and then I assume that my aunt picks up right about here because it sounds like they’re having a ‘conversation’ (meaning that my mom is still doing all the talking yelling but responds on ways like “No, YOU’RE the one whose wrong here Marie”) and then she slams down the phone after she feels she has run out of four letter words to attack with and that it’s time to harass me some more.

Now she is at bingo all night where she belongs and will hopefully die. Die in the state where she has the nice, happy, tacky and phony second Gwen face on that she uses on everybody else in the world. I’m still at home, sick, alone and with all the Percocet it would take anybody else to make things better. Me? I stick around for the pain if not for me, for all those people I do have good relationships with.

Because I go out of my way to avoid situations involving me reading books (especially factious ones) but bought myself a copy of the book ‘Lolita’ for my English class anyway, I rented the 1962 version of the film (along with the other one which I will soon sit down to watch sometime in this coming week) just top get a good idea of the general plot and what not before cracking open what harbored a small potential to turn out to be a 317 page nightmare (kay, I’m a slow reader, please go home now) I can’t quite put into words this film without producing some kind of automated and blan narrative- like I so often do but it was enough to distract my mind from the usual cesspool of wank that resides in my life. Or in other words, go see it for yourself. It appeals to like-minded individuals of myself.

In other news, recently my relationship with my mother seems to have reached a plateau of sorts in the way that things haven’t improved but at the same time she hasn’t tried to get me into any more childish little fist fights for the last couple of weeks but still she finds ways of making me suffer and ways of her to not have to take responsibility for her actions. Maybe this one needs a bit more of an explanation before I droll on into analysis which if I’m lucky you will commit but a fraction of the attention required to qualify for “skim over” status to.

When ever my mother finds some minute little imperfection in her life which she can obscurely peg on me, she instantly ceases the opportunity to get into some useless little spat (God forbid that she actually told me something once like a normal human being or sat down and talked out our her problems because it’s painfully obvious who was dealt a handicap when it comes to ways of articulating oneself) which is her way of getting some power over somebody; anybody. So then she falls short of ways to express herself in a non-barbaric fashion and resorts to the last act of her limited mind- rage and violence. Now I may be physically incapable of virtually every other activity requiring moderate physical aptitude but I’m sure that I’m more than simply on par with the world when it comes to throwing a few punches. But here’s the catch: somewhere in her sick little mind, she figures that it’s okay for her to try to break my back or punch me clean in the face but if I were to even attempt to retain her, it’s a perfectly reasonable clause to call the police because I’m being an “out of control teenager”. And this is what I’m getting at; why is it that she can completely justify what she puts me through and by the same logic (if you can even call it that) I can’t defend why it’s wrong for the person who’s supposed to provide, advocate and nurture for you to but you through so much abuse.

As I was getting at, the same goes for my financial situation. She owes me a huge debt right now that’s well over a year old and it seems that with every one of my paychecks, a respectable portion ends up going to her. Now I know what you’re thinking, ‘Why not just say no?’. If only things were that simple. One of several less desirable outcomes will arise. Some of which include getting privileges taken away, threatening to not repay me for other debt that’s long overdue, withholding food and further humiliation and degration in sequence with any of the others. I’m picking option one only because there’s a higher change of me not landing up in a less desirable situation much like how I’m left with no choice but to endure her battery.

Know you what else is funny? How when we have these little conversations, she mentions everything I own that she sees as frivolous vehicles of driving my ‘spoiled brat lifestyle’. Do you know why I find this little tidbit particularly hilarious? Because she has never given me any of the stuff that she brings up- comic books, clothes, shoes, video games, movies, my computer, action figures, fabric… these are in truth more so my methods of drowning out the sound of her grading voice and seeking happiness.

I’m convinced that this is the way she attempts to get control over her life- by trying to take control of mine. She obviously needs to get her financial priorities in order (As Jordan remarked from a note on our fridge: “Why are getting a facial and hair dyed above pay back MJ?”, something that I’ve become desensitized to), she’s a substitute teacher and therefore gets no power in the workplace, she does not stop binge eating and despite all her feminist bullshit she loads on me about (and I quote) how men all deserve to be castrated and how she’s an independent and self sufficient woman, she’s really more desperate than a stray cat in heat .

Without knowing my mother, one may also suggest that I cut her some slack for the unfortunate situation that is my father having left us eleven and a half years ago and she being left alone to raise a child. Well guess what? That debt didn’t get how it is now from responsible payments over time. She’s been using it as an excuse to recklessly support a lifestyle she can’t afford in some kind of attempt to get remarried and then this unreasonable archetype of hers that is miles out of her greedy little league, will all of a sudden make all our her problems disappear. It’s her failure to take ownership for her own lack of financial management skills because it’s so much easier to just peg my dad for it. And that’s another thing, when ever I challenge her on some ignorant viewpoint of hers, she blames me right away for having inherited my father’s short temper and chauvinism (ironically enough, she’s foolish enough to believe that such traits can be inherited and not taught by the father that I never saw for the five years I was living with him anyway) She blames the whole wide world’s prejudice against single mothers for her mistakes. Yeah, I’m sure that it’s because you don’t have a husband that some teacher wrote you a bad letter of recommendation that I will never hear the end of.

If I were to believe anything about this ‘traditional family structure’ which she holds so close to what remains of her cold and fickle heart, it would be that until I’m 18, I shouldn’t get involved with the finances. Never once has that woman lent me a cent and here I am now, sixteen years old and worrying about my monetary matters. Do you know why it is that I have high end electronics, fancy gadgets and expensive clothes? Because I was never doted on with allowances and such. I never had money banging around in my life so although few in number, I have gone out of my way to only buy myself the best even if it takes me months of agonizing saving and working a position I don’t particularly enjoy which, I’m now being pressured to quit on account of her not getting as much as she had expected back on her income tax because I’ve held down a respectable job for the past year OR pay her back the $3000 or what ever she was expecting. Oh, but what’s this? I don’t have that money because I gave it all to her. Then she calls me a spoiled brat for wanting this money back. Is this wrong of me? Is it wrong for me to want back what was given out of generosity so long ago? Am I crazy for wanting my own money back? But no, every time I ask when I might be seeing a single dollar of that back, she starts listing off how much she’s going to subtract for having asked and then explodes in a fit of wrath which I have to once again bide my way through even if it means sacrificing my own dignity. Some glorious family structure this is.

But back to my father for one second. I’m the one whose being raised without any male authority figure or what ever which essentially is supposed to fuck me over for life or something like that (keep in mind too, my entire relative base is composed of women except for my grandpa) And do I mope and do I angst and further more do I care? I really know no different and feel nothing about it aside from maybe my own expectations of what may have been different had I had a father. Maybe then I would have had somebody of my own gender to seek comfort with instead of being pushed around into awkward social situations with the women who were supposed to be my source to seek confrontation with should I need it. But have I gotten my issues (especially those concerning gender, the real taboo trigger) off my chest? Not by a long shot and I’m not sure whether or not I can trust myself forever with such regards mutating inside my head. But in truth I guess I’m an emotional disconnect when it comes to really caring about my dad. I feel none of what I guess I'm expected to. He’s just one more Card at Christmas time to me and maybe I guess I’ve always known in the back of my head that I was better left unexposed to him and all his illegal activities, recreational drug use, alcoholism, promiscuity and of course his violent out lashes. But at the same time, where applicable I would love to rack up on any missed points for having a parental unit completely cut you off all together without any reason at all. For somebody who brought you into the world to go almost years on end sometimes without contacting you. For me to not believe in unconditional love (or at least to never be the subject of it).

I’m sixteen. What’s there I can really do to change any of this anyway?

Just like every other time when my mom and I fight I end up completely breaking down and she overwhelms me with the same questions: “What the fuck is wrong with you? Why makes you so special to cry like a three year old when ever you want? I HAVE THE RIGHT TO KNOW SO TELL ME YOU SPOILED LITTLE BITCH.” Well then here are all your damned answers for right now that you will never hear:

I’M LIVING IN CHAOS AND PARANOIA AT HOME WITH ZERO PARENTAL STABILITY OR SUPPORT.

I’M REALLY A BOY BUT I WOULDN’T TELL YOU UNLESS YOU WERE DEAD BECAUSE I FEAR IMPENDING INSTITUTIONALIZATION BECAUSE YOU’VE TOLD ME LOUD AND CLEAR THAT PEOPLE OF MY GENDER DISPOSITION ARE SUBJECTS OF MENTAL ILLNESS.

OH GUESS WHAT? I’M GAY TOO.

WOMEN HAVE DECEIVED ME SO MANY TIMES IN MY LIFE AND HAVE ROBBED ME OF THINGS I WILL NEVER GET BACK. YOU ARE NO EXCEPTION. I HATE YOU THE MOST.

YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE GOOD AT EVERYTHING THAT’S IMMEASURABLE.

I’M A FUCKING SOCIOPATH- ONCE AGAIN I THINK I CAN THANK YOU FOR THIS ONE ON ACCOUNT OF ALL THE INSECURITIES YOU’VE BEATEN INTO MY HEAD.

THERE IS NO GOD SO PLEASE STOP DICTATING ME THROUGH THIS FIGMENT OF YOUR OWN BELIEFS.

WE ARE POOR BECAUSE OF YOU- NOT ME.

I’M CONVINCED THAT EVEN THE ONE PERSON I LOVE MOST IS ONLY PLAYING ME FOR KICKS.

I’VE GIVEN UP ON TRUSTING OTHER PEOPLE ALTOGETHER.

So badly right now I want to just go to the hospital to see my psychiatrist but I know he won’t help me at all. They all think I’m a wreck. Ever since I was little I’ve just gotten dumped around to different doctors and watched through one sided windows and restrained and publicly humiliated in front of rooms full of people taking notes who I knew damn well were there watching me as if I was some sort of animal even though the doctors insisted that they weren’t. But if I’m to play entertainment for interns once again now then so be it- at least I will have somebody to talk to. Maybe things were better when I don’t have these lapses into psychosis. Maybe I was better off when I was just dubbed out of my mind all the time.

I hate remembering all of this. It’s disconcerting because as much as I think I’ve changed, as much as I think I’ve grown from the kid who was supposed to attend some special institution school for the mentally unstable, I’m totally not. I want some stability and something to trust for Christs sake! It’s no wonder I hate people to the degree which I do. I hate living with myself. And there’s so much more, I just know it is. I’ve just suppressed all this from my memory because I thought things were all better.

So I’m sure that all of you have been passing suspicions around as to why I have not been answering my cell phone for the past four days. Or maybe I should start this tale off with the honest truth which is that I’m desperate to tell a good story and the story of why I got my phone confiscated for a whole week seems to be all that is up and exciting in my life and therefore will have to do (as in, not that anybody calls me really, nor have I granted the permission to anyone to do so really)

So as you may know, I found out just shortly ago that the last four digits of my mobile phone number (0-7-3-9) spell out "0-S-E-X". Considering that my head is entrapped in a permanent state of gutter-dwelling, I thought that this was hilarious and therefore jumped at the notion of setting up my voice mail message to the following:

"Hey there big guy!
You’ve reached █-█-█-0-S-E-X.
Please leave your name and a personal message after the tone so we can set you up with your very own sexy party."

And of course, this is all said in the erotic voice which I may just have to resort to making a decent living off of should I end up as washed-up, wannabe Hollywood trash (probable) Of course I ASKED my mom for permission to set something like this up as my voice mail (more so if I could mention the 0-S-E-X part) because she disapproved of the length of my last message which was left by none other than the Benson (classic)

So my interpretation of a grapevine line was my personal message for a good two weeks or so until my mom called it Monday evening when I just so happened to be staying in Benson’s company for a few hours later than I had previously been given consent to. So she calls to bitch all over me about that and stumbles across my little master piece and flips out. She flips almost as hard as Tyra Banks did all over the internet that one time. Anyway, I’m not entirely sure as to whether it was me staying out three hours late (mind you I never leave my house at ALL) doing things I enjoy and not being scrutinized for my every action or if it was because of my message (which I know, I know, was a bit risqué for a sixteen-year-old who always answers his phone anyway) but case in point is that all my phone will not belong to me until next Monday.

Boo hoo.

But Monday was amazing so I really don’t care after all.