My life has once again come full circle, which haphazardly is the title of my new book. It talks about breaking cycles that bind us to negativity and how we try to break them. Do we ever succeed? How do we go about breaking cycles or chains that have afflicted us for so long? It seems as if, I, the master of my universe, has let fate, if not ill bred though based decision making affect me, if not afflict me into, me into-the same problem: my relationship with my mother, the basis of all interaction.
I remember 4 years ago, I, Tarrance, not an embellished derivative of him, was happy. I was confident, I was carefree. I was who I long to be again, who I am in my natural element. Disconnected from my root-because I realize that I cant be functional from home base. It takes exploring bases 2 and 3 before you know what a home run is.
I think this is the true defining chapter of my life where I need to close and re-write a new one so I can embrace whole heartily who I really am.
People are afraid to talk about their "Mommy" problems, because in black culture it is usually our fathers that we have problems with. But I am almost certain, that if my father were alive today, I'd be different-but the fact of me almost 100% hating my mother would still be a factor in the equation of my completeness.
The most difficult part of dealing with the scene of melodramatics in my life was the most taxing because my human outlet was gone. Tuesday played such a dynamic role in my well being of my mental health. It was her support and wisdom, guidance, reassurance that I would come out the victor not only because my issues with my mother aren't fresh, but because she too had difficulty with her mother, full circle.
My mother is poison, her name should be ivy. Thinking about; reflecting on time past, spent, I recall her brainwashing me. Making me totally dependent on her; as a mother does her child accept in an ill-mannered, almost psychotic sense.
Her prose, "I didn't want you knowing them. I didn't want you to be apart of them. They've never done anything for you." She says of my fathers family.
Her abrasion, "I'm the only sane one in my family. They're crazy, I don't fuck with them neither should you." She says of her family. But if family is related, if family is a unit, what makes her exempt of the free rashness that runs rampant? Free from all of the disdainful pleasures of life? Was she not born unto the same?
Too young to know then what I was in for, I am a deer and headlights, high beams are coming towards me. I am still, frozen for another moment in time.
She tried convincing me that she worked hard and provided for me and that's all she had to do. Since no one else did it for me, I had to be subject to her verbal blades, her emotional beating. The same ones she taught me to use, she can't take, I think my wings are ready, Trent Jackson it's time to break.
Mother, no one else could describe, mother. She'll tell you different, she'll make me out to be a liar and justify her reasons for being a mother.
In all of my strength. In all of my insane-sane, pseudo, quasi, neurotic, eroticness. I challenge myself to think. Am I alone? Is something wrong with me? Is it my fault? Did I ask for this?
Looking out my glass house, somebody shout me a holler, tell me to fuck a fake bitch, and make this hoe catch a brick, so I can escape into sanity or a sense of it. Or am I already in it?