Mugshots of Mamma; a Family Christmas Picture

In the newest installment of my family tragi-comedy I have collected the 4th mug shot of my mother in as many years; this time for domestic assault.  Now, placed in the same situation she has been living in I can hardly think that I would have been arrested for anything less than attempted murder, but as a sober person, I find it impossible to conceive of remaining in a toxic relationship with a sadistic monster like her husband.  I’m not randomly calling him names.  I have 30 years of history with this man and I can honestly say that he is the worst thing that ever happened to my family.  But mom is very comfortable in her material condition.  I wouldn’t call my parents “rich” by any means, but they want for nothing.  And that presents something of a problem.  Mom has enough money to be shielded from the consequences of many of her actions, and she is sick enough to be able to deny the rest.

Somewhere in our literature talk about the absolute necessity of reaching a “bottom” –some place where the agony of continuing to live the way we are outweighs the cost of doing whatever it takes to be sober.  My mom’s twisted love of emotional violence and her robust economic ability to avoid homelessness, starvation, and prison, work together to make sure she has what she needs in order to continue lying to herself about reality.  I have had intermittent hope of things getting better since the first Holiday on Lies in 2008, but I think it never will.

I cut off ties to mom a few months ago after a string of nasty exchanges ended with her leaving drunken messages on my phone calling me names.  (Bastard and son of a bitch among them though I’m sure the irony was lost to her.)  She left that message on my voice mail while I was in my Reasoned Discourse and Contemporary Rhetoric class where we covered verbal aggression.  My professor had just told me that the only reason to perpetrate this form of violence is to cause emotional pain.  So when I listened to my mom’s message I called her back and told her that I would not take calls from her if she was going to be abusive.  Needless to say, she has never called again.

So Merry Christmas to my mom.  I hope she is enjoying her spectacular misery.  I’ll keep her new picture with the other 3, printed on nice, glossy paper to remind myself of how much better life is sober.