Norman Holland, a psychoanalytic critic believes that we project our coping strategies and psychological conflicts onto everything, which is called our "identity theme" or the way we perceive the world. The way in which I cope with the loss of my mother to addiction is a significant theme I identify with. I project my repressed emotion onto other people and situations in response to this internal conflict I have dealt with for a decade. Nobody truly knows who they are until they understand who they're not, or perhaps, what is missing. It's the time and space between two people in which you learn how you define yourself in relation to the other person, who you are with and without them. A large part of who I am today was determined by my relationship with my mother before and after. It's almost impossible to define myself when my identity is an ever changing state of ups and downs; an emotional rollercoaster. I thought these things got easier with time, but I was mistaken.
I've written a letter to my mother in response to this new found awareness of my being, more specifically, why I am the way that I am.
To my mother,
I have made you the topic I don't discuss. The elephant in the room that no one talks about. The most uncomfortable word in my vocabulary, "Mom"; the word plagued my thoughts and conversations as I scrambled desperately to avoid it -- to avoid the memory of you -- picking out all the bad stuff, even the good stuff with you in it. Selective memory. An armful of bittersweet childhood memories tossed aside like spoiled food, a danger to me and everyone around me. This was my defense. Afraid of what I would find, I simply stopped looking.
The past several years I have told myself that you don't matter. I mean, how could you matter? You are but a void, a ghost of someone who had once shown me unconditional love. My greatest let down. I realize that my words can be hurtful, but what I say comes from somewhere so deep down that it took years for these words to surface. To deny you every detail is to deny you the opportunity to really know your daughter. My attitude about you has been so fucked; at times I don't even know what to think. But in your absence I have come to realize that you've undoubtedly touched every aspect of my being from the time I was born to this day. You matter to me more than you could ever imagine, more than I could imagine.
The impact you have had on my life could bring down these walls. For better or for worse, you have helped me to form my ideologies and the moral code by which I live. I think critically of other people's character and I am quick to pass judgment. I'll be the first to admit this. I'm beginning to think itís because of my relationship with you that I behave this way. My fear of abandonment has caused me to second guess everyoneís motives. As my vulnerability increases, my anxiety intensifies. I panic. I second guess a lot of things--my faith, or lack thereof. I know this must be hard for you being that your devotion to God is so strong, but when you left so did my faith. I couldnít tell you how many times I prayed for you and how many prayers were left unanswered. Believe me; I gave it my best shot. There is nothing left. However, the past 9 or 10 years have been godless ones and for the most part things have worked out in my favor.
Your letter I received in August of 2000. I was 11 years old and I donít remember reading it. I must have, but whether or not I understood your message is unclear. I remember beating myself up for not giving you a reason to stay, as if I were to blame. Then when I stopped blaming myself, I blamed you. The letter founds its way into my hands again, and I am now 21 years old. It was as if you had written it yesterday. So fresh. Yours were the kindest words that have ever been spoken to me. Whether or not it was intended, it was the greatest blessing that has fallen onto my lap. I wasn't a victim anymore; instead I felt your embrace. You were spilling your heart out to me in a way that you knew an 11 year old would not understand. I get it now.
There is so much I wish I would tell you. You always told me how gifted I was and in your letter you wrote, "I should put you in a special school for the arts [...] I have seen your talent grow all these years. So please do me a favor and talk to daddy about taking Art in school." You knew me. I should probably mention that I am now a student at the Maryland Institute College of Art pursuing my bachelor's degree in Fine Arts. MICA is one of the top art schools in the country, and I feel extremely fortunate to be given this opportunity. I've always wanted to make you proud. I aspire to be an artist as well as a wonderful daughter. Regardless whether or not our paths cross, I want you to know that you have influenced me significantly, and for that I'm thankful.
Love always,
Julie
