Bruised Knees and Worn hands

Bruised Knees and Worn Hands

My hands are rough and callous from years of hammering nails, stacking mortar, and cutting wood in a futile attempt to each my mother. No matter what I build my bridges with, she always manages to burn them down. For a while, my bridge is perfect: we hug on it, spend time on it, but something always happens, and when it does, that bridge is ash. My heart heaves, I hold my breath, and eventually I exhale, clean up the remains and start to build a new bridge. It’s a silly idea, the way I slave and labor to make this walkway between us, because in a matter of time, it will be gone. I know, I’ve built dozens of bridges over the past ten years, fighting roadblocks like new boyfriends, evictions, poverty and living with my grandparents. The biggest obstacle, however, is my mother’s mental illness and lack of willpower to change her ways. I think I may be done building and chasing pavements for her.
I don’t clearly remember when conflict first arose between us, but I do remember as a child the conflict of who would take care of me did arise. In the beginning, I lived with my mother until I was around four, that’s when my grandparents took custody of me. My life was simple, pleasant, and loving. As the story goes, at nine I moved back in with my mother but at ten I was back with my grandparents. It was when I was fourteen the tension began to tighten between my mother and I, it was a battle of loyalty: do I remain loyal to the woman who gave me life, or to the relatives who raised me and loved me unconditionally? It’s a fight I’m still struggling with. My mother is amoral and mentally ill with Bi Polar disorder, sociopath and borderline personality. She steals, lies, does drugs and sets her priorities askew. It’s an obstacle for me to overcome because it’s such an internal as well as external conflict. I can’t trust her; she has forsaken me and herself. I’ve spent my life, no, wasted my life trying to please a person who is never satisfied, a woman with no morals, and who puts her life in danger and her kids. I’ve wasted so much money, money being my love and energy, building a bridge that will never last. Stacking stones and brick to reach her, and it crumbles with a lie, a betrayal, and more love for her boyfriends than her children. I’ve forgiven her before, but now I’m moving on. I’m accepting she won’t change unless she really wants to, and she doesn’t. This is an obstacle I can’t move, but I can reposition myself and walk forward.
The sticks and stones I’ve built my life upon needs that energy more than a bridge that will never last. I’ve finally accepted those facts about my mother, and now I can build a bridge to my life. One that will stay up and I can walk upon and over. The struggle that is mother and daughter is never over, but now I’ve accepted that and now my bridges will lead somewhere more hopeful.