She stayed over last night. In the morning I had a lot of hetro sex dreams, wandering about looking for a man to have sex with, I'm not sure if I found someone. During the day I have had increasing memories of having sex with my mother. I call them memories they are more like impressions of memories. Its not like I can say they are new but its been a while since they have felt so real. The way she touched me and rubbed against me gave me much more physical pleasure than abuse from my dad or men. It's not like I can see her face in the memories, maybe it wasn't her, maybe I'm just putting these feelings onto her because I have rarely felt, very close to her. Even when I was little.
What I can remember clearly that amongst the carnage of 2001 I was having sezuires, flashbacks, lots of memories that I was reliving and accepting as part of my past. Until one day she came over and I couldn't do it anymore. I remember standing on the stairs in my flat in Aberdeen with the grey carpet and the light pink walls and not knowing what to do, I couldnt handle whatever I was remembering about her so everything got pushed back again. She said I didn't have a son. I stopped healing, had a mental breakdown. At some point later I remember being in my Dad's living room I think middle sis was having a go at me about all the acusations I'd been making, had the police picked my dad up at his work? I'm not sure, but someone got me to make a statement that caused the family some short term trouble. I said they all had raped me and that they had all been raped. My sister was enraged insisting she had never been raped, my oldest sister just sat there drunk, and nodding. I said my mum had given me an abortion. The old fashioned way where they put impliments in the womb to cut up the baby into pieces and take it out piece by piece. There was a bucket I was sitting on the edge of my bed, she said it was okay because I'd had an epidural and so wouldn't feel anything. One of the skills the government types were interested in was telepathy, they thought it might be brought out by truama, in the right candidate of course. To me it was a gift, evolution, a fluke, whatever. Anyway, I heard the bairn scream and was sure that was why they had used that kind of abortion on me with no head drugs. I was compleltly conscious, the scream haunted me for a long time. The details were clear in my mind for a long time, but not now. When I was little I was sure she had put a pillow over my face and tried to suffocate me in the cot. She looked like a zombie, no eye movments, slow dragging movements. During the abortion she was business like, told me to keep quite cause it didnt hurt, she is a nurse after all.
Maybe it wasn't her. Maybe they just made me think that.
But when I'm anxious I dont want her anywhere near me and sometimes when the wee man was tiny I felt like vomiting as I watched her holding him. What about the others Mum, could you love them to?
I knew that when I moved down here that those feelings towards her would come back because I had more time, more space without them to think. Maybe I should have gone further, but here was the only place where I knew someone would help me with all the endless work required with fliting and making somewhere my own. I could go back to Woman's Aid I suppose and get a transfer somewhere out of Scotland, too far for her to visit often. At the time my main priorities were getting away from Dad and his drinking and middle sis and her psychoness. I've no credit left now, just debt and although this is hardly a 'good' area I like our flat it gets lots of light, the neighbours are alright, its ours. The thought of volunteering to be homeless again and starting from scratch is way to much.
My mum is my main babysitter, so that I can go to dramatherapy. I know she herself as she is at the moment is no threat to my son. If some hell turned up at the door I'm sure she would let it in but whoes says I would do any better. Of course in an ideal world I would have nothing to do with her but in this world my son loves her and she gives us a lot of practical support. Practical support that has been absolutly essential for us. As far as I know social services aren't in the habbit of taking kids away for the weekend and giving them back because single mums are going mental and just need a bit of time and space.
Part of the problem I have with routines, with housework, with pretending everything is fine is a reaction against the way she always did, like nothing had happened. The tea got made, the dishes washed, then settle down to watch some TV with a glass of wine.
So I'm back. Back in this stuck place where maintaing the present takes everything I have and leaves nothing for relocation plans. I know there is not much point in regrets but I wonder sometimes I hadn't invested so much in people that when they got out never looked back maybe I would have more left for us.