For Better or for Worse

this is for myself. so that i get off my ass. or actually stay on my ass. and write this one woman show i've been saying for ages that i would write. i didn't know it was gonna be about my mother. but. here it is. i don't care if anybody reads it. i just need to write it. and write it. until it is finished. and all this shit is dealt with. that's right shit. i will not watch my mouth. i will not watch my spelling. i will not bother with capitalization. punctuation is enough. all i want is for this random crying to stop. this crazy shadow to stop following me. i want to understand. why my mother kept a copy of the book by Betty Mahmoody, "Not Without My Daughter", on her bedside table. and then she left. without both her daughters. i want to understand this mother myth. where does it come from? why do we need them. why is it that though she was never a good mother i sob uncontrollably sometimes. why is it that i feel that if she had died instead i would have put her on a pedestal. and my crying wouldn't be so intense. why?

i'm resisting this. i have been. for very long. at first because i thought there was nothing more to say. that i was done with my mother issues. and then i was at this event. and someone read a story. about a mother that left. and my body convulsed with tears. the kind that make you hiccup. without a thought. just an overwhelm of intangible feelings. and so i will write. until every word is written. until every tear is shed.