Savior Complex . . .

My family of origin would drag me under with them in a tidal wave, not push me to safety if they had the chance.  None of us is immune from this lethal centrifugal force. 

My niece, S., has sucked me back in more during the past two years than anyone in the entire twenty previous.  I think I loved the idea of her, because the reality is so completely disastrous.

Every single time some new drama manifests, I am tempted to step off the safe ship that is my current home and family.  I am drawn to swim with the sharks of my past.

Even though I never made a complete and total break, I stayed away for a long time.  I considered never giving my mother my forwarding address. 

She once told me that if I were to die it would not affect her as much as if it were one of her other children, since I lived so far away.  She would just pretend I was still living in California.  In reality, it’s the fact that I’m not needy enough, I can’t be controlled.

My mother and her sister are as different as night and day.  In some ways my sister and I have repeated that relationship in this generation.  I know there is a lesson to be learned here, but I haven’t figured it out yet.

I regret that I never got involved when my niece and nephew were growing up in the midst of domestic violence & alcoholism.  After all, my sister was their mother, how bad could it be?  Evidently pretty damned bad.

I always wished that someone would save us from my mother, yet I didn’t do it for the next generation.

I actually think part of my sister’s feelings toward her own daughter were colored by her dislike of me.  S. liked boys, make-up, having her hair done.  Somewhere along the line my sister grew to hate everything feminine.  I had a messy room as a child, so did S.  We were too much alike.  I adored that about her, but I don’t think her mother did.

My sister almost seemed relieved when her 18 year old began a relationship with a 40 year old guy.  When he began hitting her, the idea was expressed that maybe she deserved some of it.  By that time, the damage was beyond done.

When S. began doing crack cocaine and paid suitors with her children in the next room, the folks who lived nearby somehow ignored that it was happening. 

I thought I might end up with her children over a year ago.  She told someone that if she went to prison she’d be sending them my way.  But she never asked me. 

She has yet to go to prison, languishing in a court system that is both laughable and torturous.  I was left holding the thought, an invisible bubble.

A thought that turns my life upside down every time it enters my head.

When I heard about this new baby I felt a flash of hope.  But what was I hoping for? 

Mom tells me S. is a great mother, that she only used small amounts of cocaine during her pregnancy.  In other words, it’s not that big of a deal.  And the fact that she was sitting in a bar drinking a week before giving birth?  Well, it’s a small town and there’s not much else to do.

Mom even made a statement about how she smoked with all three of her children and is happy she did, considering our birth weights were quite heavy enough, thank you.

S. really reminds my mother of herself, a total fuck-up, an irresponsible ass, a selfish bitch who always puts herself before the needs of her children.

My niece expected to take baby number three home from the hospital, against all odds.  She did not.  The baby was picked up by foster parents.

Neither of my niece’s parents were available to pick their daughter up and bring her home from the hospital.  In so many ways, that is what all this is about. 

My mother and sister both ignored my offer to drive home and do whatever was asked of me.  They would prefer to pull this newest member of the family below the waves, as well.  They would never, ever consider saying anything kind or positive about me as a mother, never thank me for offering.  As a matter of fact, who in the hell do I think I am?

We grew up in the nicest house on our block.  My mother wouldn’t let us play with the neighbor kids because they weren’t good enough, didn’t match our social strata. 

My great-grandmother owned a business, one of the most prestigious in town.  My mother worked there and had her hair done weekly in a bouffant style.  There were expectations that our home was to be kept relatively immaculate.

And I wonder why I sometimes feel practically schizophrenic? 

Today my mother suggests that Kentucky welfare is a popular & reasonable option.  She states that the nurses “narced” on my niece, they told child welfare services she had given birth.

She is a poisonous spider who will catch you in her web of cash and prizes, then suck your blood.  She will pat you on the back for breaking the law, but spit in your face if you think you’re too good, better than that, better than her.

In my head I’m still a little girl with a superhero complex and want to save them all.  Still I refuse to accept that their pull is so much stronger than mine.

And where do I get off, pretending to be a savior, when I’m still floundering and grasping for my own shore.