Does my mom need to cry?

My mom's old. She's married to a hard worked husband, and 6 children, half of which aren't doing so well; me included. My mother and I had an argument in where she was at fault. This problem that occured, it's a continuous dilemma, and she knows she's at fault. I was yelling at her. You know that time where you when you tell someone to do something, and then you tell them to do something, and then you tell them and tell them, and yet they manage to cut through the 4 minutes your not looking, and do exactly the opposite of what you've spent your life hoping would get through her head. After the problem was resolved, I felt that tension, that uneasy oxygen. I walked over to my mom and wrapped my arms around her. I told her I was sorry for yelling, and that I don't want to have to act like that. But then, she started pretending to cry.

I'm 23 years old. I've seen the act so many times I'm desanitized. My brother walks into the door practically everyday and just yells at my mom. No reason needed, just yelling. Stupid stuff like why isn't there specifically any coral calcium in the cabinets. He's 32. He's also been in and out of jail since he was in high school. He's the result of too much exposure to crystal meth. Drugs like crystal meth kill off your brain cells, and fuck with your emotions. Moodswings, bipolarity, violence, and most importantly, the suffocating yearning to feel wanted. Everyday my mom's awake and my brother's in the same room, it's the same argument. If my mom's asleep, I've witnessed him banging on my parents bedroom door, just so he could criticize, "their way of life." However, when it comes to me, I wrap my arms around my mom, feel the shaking insides belting out, and feel her "trying" to cry. Forcing herself to cry. As if this is her moment to shine on her annual stage.

I told her stop. Told her to stop pretending. I know she bottles all of this emotion up, but does she need to cry. Is that healthy? Is that really what you're supposed to do with all those emotions? Isn't there a healthy less sacrificial way to perspire all this stuff? Can't we just fly kites. That's my question.


The problem had to do with laundry. My mom touched my laundry. A lot of people wouldn't understand my disattachment of my laundry to my mother. But my mom's a horder. She hordes things. She hordes garbage. She hordes other people's garbage. The path from her bedroom door to the bed, is a narrow squeeze between 10 gallon garbage bags and take home plastic bags from Safeway. Within minutes my one load of laundry, all the clothes I have, were in 7 different piles hidden in her room. My mom loves laundry. My mom loves to help.

Originally written for www.20sb.net, July 19th 2010.