I’ve been pretty angry lately. It comes and goes, as unpredictable and variable as the weather. One day I honestly feel as though I have forgiven my mother, both parents actually, and that I can move on from the betrayal. Other days, the anger, resentments, and “what could have beens” feel so deeply rooted that I imagine it is a living part of me, as much as my eyes or skin. I feel such a sense of loss, that every memory I have of my childhood, interactions with my parents and other family is now tainted. It’s like the opposite of viewing it through rose colored glasses; like I am now viewing that history through grayness. Memories now have a fog of questions enveloping everything.
I’m angry that my parents lied to me for 41 years. I’m angry that my mother still can’t or won’t be completely honest with me. I’m angry that I no longer know who I am. I’m angry that I am ashamed about something that I had no control over. I’m angry that I can’t fill out a medical history form for me or my children with any sort of accuracy. I’m angry that I feel guilty. I’m angry that I haven’t found forgiveness.