Even Better Than A Follower; I Have A Mother

Seems fairly obvious, I know; but that makes it no less worthy of celebration. I have a mother. And she's a damn fine example of one, too.

Without getting into a clinical diagnosis, I need to make clear the fact that I, for all my charm, wit, and general attractiveness, have some moderately serious... social/emotional issues. It's not that I can't relate to people--I'm actually pretty fantastic at getting people to open up and talk to me--it's more that I can't always get them to understand where I'm coming from. Almost all my skill at verbal communication is focused outward. If you met me, chances are you'd wind up telling me all sorts of stuff you didn't mean to, but you'd go away not knowing much about how I feel... unless you ask me a question, I have trouble actually saying what's on my mind.

Don't get me wrong. I can talk for England, and I can be by turns, amusing, empathetic, informative, playful, silly, insightful, thought-provoking, and just plain fun. As well as a tendency to verbosity and nosiness, but nevermind that. The point is, when I'm on, I'm SO on. I'm a conversational ninja.

But underneath that, I am so, so very private and withdrawn. I don't want to bore you with my story. I don't want to be a nuisance. I don't want to be selfish and narcissistic (I mean I know I am, but I'm trying to become less so).

Most of all, I want you to be as interested in me, as I am in you. But since I'm possibly THE MOST INTENSE person you'll ever meet, that's unlikely to happen. You cannot be as charmed, or fascinated, or intrigued by me, as I will be by you.

*adopts melodramatic tone* It is my gift, and my curse.

Lol. Histrionics aside, if I choose, I WILL make you feel better for having met me, and chances are, you won't think/don't know how to return the favour. And even if you did, God, I just require so much effort. Some people can do it for a little while, but no one can put up with me full-time.

Except for my mom. And I know all mothers should love their childen wholeheartedly, and be able to 'put up with' them, but that doesn't mean they do. Even leaving bad mothers out of it, not every mother is willing to continually put her child's needs ahead of her own. I know that most women couldn't have dealt with me as a child or an adolescent.

But my mom. You know that saying, about a woman being a hole, into which all the futility of the world is poured? That was me and my mom. I just poured, and poured, and poured, all my pint-sized rage and pain and suffering and aloneness into my mother's sympathetic, empathetic ear, and she gave me back love, and love, and more love on top of it. Nothing I said, nothing I confessed to (I was a naughty, but repentent, child) ever made her treat me any differently, or love me any less. My mother was forgiveness and mercy personified. And patience. My mother had, and still has, all the patience required to listen to someone talk about, and around, and over and under and though the same thing, for hours at a time, until they've processed and dissected and verbalized every subtle nuance of the matter.

And on top of her patience, and understanding, and the gentle way she reacted to everything I did and everything I was, she was so proactively loving. Every day of my life, every single day of my life as a child, I was told I was loved. Every day, I heard that I was so special, a marvel, a gift from God, and did I know how wonderful and amazing I was? Sometimes I would be looking at my mother, chattering away, and I would catch the look on her face, and I would just know that no one, ever, in the history of the whole world, ever loved anyone the way I was loved.

And I wasn't the only one who knew my mom was special. I lost track of all the times my friends told me they wished their mom was more like mine; for that matter, I lost track of all the friends that wished we could just outright swap.

I was horrified. I loved my mother. I could never imagine wanting to swap her for anyone else's mom. Then again, I could see why my friends would want to exchange mothers. I knew mine was the best on the planet.

Mostly I knew this, because she was forever telling me I was the best kid on the planet (and my sister as well, of course). Which was so silly. My sister's alright; but I was awful, lol.

But not to my mother. In my mother's eyes, I was as close to perfect as a child can be. Practically perfect, in every way. Bright, and gifted, and sweet, and thoughtful, and unique, and a hundred other brilliant things. From birth, my mother brainwashed me into believing her version of me--and to a certain extent, I achieved it.

I am not as amazing as she thinks I am; this is to the detriment of the world. If I were all that my mother believes I am, the world would surely be a significantly better place for my being in it. But I will always strive to become all that she thinks I am, and so, maybe the world will one day be a little better, for my having been in it.

Without my mother, all the darkness of the world--and all the darkness of my own soul, psyche, mind, whatever--would have consumed me long ago. Instead, because she has raised me to be the person she knows I can be, I am doing what I can to spread my own tiny bit of light around.

Even my mother can't untwist that light, as it shines out from the spiralling labyrinth of its origin (my mind), but she has at least ensured that it is shining. She has ensured that I feel worthy, special, unique enough, to have the right to say and feel and be whatever I am. And if my mother can do that for me, then perhaps I can do it for my own daughter. I'll try, at least. And I should succeed.

After all. That's what my mother raised me to do.