Mommy Issues.

Last week my sister posted a picture of my birth mother in instagram. I didn't even vaguely recognize her, and in fact, might not have ever realized that it was her had I not gone back through my sisters posts in an attempt to find a video of my dog. In the preceding post she mentioned taking a road trip with our mother (*shudders*) which was what tipped me off. I'm still in truth, not entirely certain the the picture IS of her, which pleases me immensely.

If it is her, it means that I officially no longer remember what she looks like.

This is perhaps the greatest revelation of all my life.

I have never in my life, felt as liberated as I do right now. This is progress. It might not seem like it to some people, but to me it is evidence that I can forget. If I can forget what she looks like, then it stands to reason that given enough time I can forget her altogether. That one day I won't remember the sound of her voice. That I won't hear her whispering how much she hates me when my life feels like it is unraveling. And perhaps most importantly, one day I won't be haunted by the dreams.

Speaking of dreams, I had the new fire dream again. I feel like this is evidence that I'm moving forward. Hopefully this one will replace the one where she murders me over her grave.

It goes like this.

I'm a small child, maybe four or five, and I'm playing in a house with my parents (my sister is not home). Eventually I realize the house is on fire, but nobody seems concerned. Everyone is very calm and mostly going about their business. I am very calmly taking items that are of value to me out of the house, one by one. Among them are my teddy bear, my dad's record player, my books, and all the pictures of Dad and I that I can find. Eventually, when I've rescued all the things that matter to me, I sit down in the yard and look up at the sky. Dad joins me shortly thereafter. My mother walks out of the burning house, looks at me, and then calmly walks back inside. She closes the door behind her and the house is engulfed in flames. I look up at my dad and ask him why mom went back inside and he tells me she isn't coming back. He pats me on the back and says everything is going to be okay. She would rather burn alive than love me, and that it isn't my fault.

This dream is sadder than the other ones, mostly because my dad finally admits what I've known all along, that she isn't capable of loving me. I am both heartbroken by having to hear it spoken aloud, and incredibly relieved. Somehow my pain is recognized and validated and I no longer have to carry the weight of this knowledge on my own. On the other hand, it is much less terrifying than the other one, plus she's the one who dies instead of me (I really dislike it when I die in my dreams). I feel like this is better, but it might be too soon to say.

The point of all this is, that today I know (for the first time) that one day I will wake up and none of this will matter. The day will come when I won't see any of her features when I look in the mirror, I won't carry around any of the bitterness she worked so hard to instil in me, and I won't care that she (for whatever reason) wasn't capable of loving me. More than that, I won't fear that I will become her, and I won't be afraid that I will hate my own children with the inexplicable voracity with which she hated me. All of the beautiful things in my life will slowly eclipse the memory of her until one day it will just cease to exist.

I am elated.

For today at least, this feels a lot like hope.
I like hope.