Forthnights

Monsters that grow from within

Sunday 2nd July 2006

As I sat down in the cyber café, doing some research online for my thesis, I received a call from my brother. He didn’t sound happy. He asked me where I was and told me to come home as soon as I could since he would be going off to church. I felt annoyed. I had barely left the house for more than an hour, with my mother still breathing down my neck for returning her key to her. My brothers annoyed tone and insistence that I come home asap made me feel as if I had done something wrong in leaving her alone at home.

But I was wrong. The tone in his voice was that of annoyance yes, but also of guilt and frustration. He told me my mother had been crying. He wanted me to come home to keep her company and comfort her. He told me to come home and hold her for a while.

So, I cut short my work and made my way home. On the way home, I suddenly felt like the bad guy in this whole matter. I haven’t been exactly very soft or kind with my mother these few days, though I took extra care not to lay a hand on her for whatever reason. I didn’t want a repeat of what happened previously. I felt a pang of guilt going down my spine. My mother had cried to my brother. For what reason? Was it because she couldn’t take how I was treating her these few days? Was is because I refused to give her they keys? Was it because I had been mean to her and forced her to take her medication? I didn’t know.

Arriving home, my brother had already left. She was lying down on the bed. I approached her and asked her what was going on and if she was ok. I could see her eyes swollen from the crying. She refused to reply anything I asked her. I guessed that she was emotionally drained from all the crying. She refused to look at me or acknowledge anything I said. Feeling frustrated all over again, I let her be and went to my room. I wondered what it was all about. Maybe I was the bad guy here after all. Maybe the reason she refused to talk to me but instead confide in my brother was because I was the cause of her misery. But then I received a text message from my brother. In it, he confessed to slapping her for trying to make a run for it. He said he wasn’t proud of it and had lost his temper. Then, the reason for all the crying became obvious. It wasn’t me entirely after all.

Still, this was still a serious matter. My brother had slapped her. I had done no better myself just 2 months ago. How many times will this happen? By right, it should never happen. What kind of a son would lay hands on his own mother? My brother said he wasn’t proud of it. But I think I understood deeper. It was pure shame and guilt. The guilt comes immediately after it happens. But the shame lingers on and on, for how long I dare not say. As for me, that feeling of shame still runs deep. I dare not speak of it or think of it. But deep down, that moment still replays over and over again in my mind. The feeling of frustration turned into anger into aggression and lastly into abuse. The explosion of anger and rage at the moment quickly turned into defiance, trying to defend my own actions. But eventually, I felt guilt and shame set in. Regret for what I had done, shame for not being able to control myself. It is not something you easily forget and I don’t think it is something I should ever be forgiven for. I dare not even ask her for forgiveness more than I dare ask for time to repeat itself. Of all the enemies that we face in life, the worst are the ones within ourselves. I fear for myself and my brother. That enemy within, creeping at the back of your mind, waiting till you are at your lowest point, when your strength and resistance has left you before it finally rears its ugly head. I never want to be an abusive husband or father. But already, I have shown these weaknesses through my own mother. I have been careful since then, not to lay a hand on her no matter how angry. The memory of it alone is enough of a nightmare.

Since then, she has become more and more redrawn and cranky. As I write these few words, she has locked herself in the room and refused to open the door for me. She said she was sick of seeing my face and since I won’t give her keys, she will just lock herself in the room. She says no one appreciates what she does at home, and when my brother left just now, she refused to say goodbye. Since I was out since evening till at night just before my brother left, I don’t really know if he has made his peace with her. But before locking herself into the room, she was still going on about needing to leave and that we are locking her in. Monday is her appointment. My father will be coming to pick us up and send us there. But she has expressed clearly that she doesn’t want my father involved. But without my own means of transport, my fathers the only way to get there. I only hope she will co-operate.

I honestly don’t know if hospitalization is the answer. From my past experience, the hospitals would rather the family take her than to keep her with them. Yet, at home, I cannot be supervising her all the time when she is so unstable. It disrupts everything at home and the frustration just piles up for everyone involved. Hopefully, the doctor can do something about the medication and calm her down. While he’s at it, maybe I can ask him for some medication for guilt, shame and regret or at least something to ease the pain.

posted by Compulsive Blogger @ 12:03 pm Comments: 0