Bitch and Rant

From the beautiful Her Bad Mother:



I said it before, and I'll say it again: sometimes, you can't vent openly - that is, yell at people to their faces, or, say, rant freely on your blog - without risking big trouble. The Basement is always available for that kind of thing, of course, but it occurred to me that sometimes we need to be invited to spill our guts, to be welcomed to vent and rant and get all messy. So I proposed the following: a Bitchin' Bitchfest Blog Exchange, wherein we arrange some swapping of blog spaces and opening up of blog spaces so that we can all blog openly on a theme that isn't entirely appropriate for our own blogs. Like, say, 'Things (Or People) That Make You Go ARGH' (not that I would know anything about this, but, you know: family members, in-laws, neighbors, et al.) Hence, the Bitchfest/Betchfest/Festival Of Rants.

So here we have an anonymous guest post - bitch away, my friend...

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All of this has been stored up for so many years and has been seeping out into various parts of my life, threatening to pollute it with the toxic nature of all the hidden anger, grief, and unsaid words.

You are the reason our son is dead. That’s right. I’ve said it. I’ve finally said those fucking words that have needed to be said since the day he died.

I went back to the Mormon Church because I couldn’t stand being stuck in a little house in the mountains with only the friends YOU deemed acceptable. Trying to raise a toddler and then the twins was impossible with your holier than thou family and the pre-arranged friendships you thought yourself generous to afford me. I grew up in that Church. Maybe I had theosophical differences, but my friends remained there, friends you wouldn’t allow me to have, but friends I needed and yearned for. I felt at home within those walls and knew I’d be embraced and loved, regardless of past transgressions.

I craved, no I NEEDED the friendship and support that the people in the church would offer me and not the suffocating judgment and self-righteous platitudes that were shoved down my throat by you and your family and your Goddamned friends.

When you decided to drag me to that “prayer meeting” so that others could pray for my “eternally damned soul” and forced me to leave my son in the care of someone I didn’t know, how was I to have known that I would spend the rest of my life living with the regret, sorrow, pain and anger that I am now.

You mother fucker! As we drove off towards that meeting our son, our precious two year old stood there at that door, crying for his mommy. Do you realize, you selfish bastard, that those are the last images of that beautiful child I have in my mind? It was the last time I would see my son alive. The next time he’d be splayed open on a surgeons table, his brain so much material oozing out from inside.

This beautiful child who would never realize his potential was lying there, lifeless and cold because you couldn’t handle the fact that I needed more than your hyper-religious, over-sexed, immature brain could provide.

I stood there, the day of my son’s interment and wanted to hurt you. I wanted to bury you. I couldn’t stand looking at you. Every word you spoke after his death was like an ice pick in my heart, only serving to harden my ire towards you and build a decades long hatred that would eat away my soul and inflame my mind.

Was it any wonder I stopped sleeping with you? Having your mother and father tell me that by refusing to have sex with you was a sin, in that I wasn’t submitting myself to you under God’s word only pushed me farther away from God and religion in general. Do you think I didn’t know what all the wadded socks at the end of the bed, tucked in between the sheet and the comforter were? Do you think I didn’t know that you lay there night after night, submitting to your own carnal and selfish desires whilst I turned a blind eye to you?

Do you know that when I did finally submit, after being beaten until I could no longer feel my hands (always so careful you were to keep from marring my face) and got pregnant with another of your children, that I wanted to give him up for adoption? Do you know I even contacted a lawyer? Yet I gave birth to him. Perhaps that’s why he is the sociopath he is now, the child who takes great pleasure in harming others and maiming animals, because of all the hatred I harbored inside for his father.

And then, two years later, after another drunken beating that ended up in rape, I wound up pregnant again and this time, I took my body into my own hands and made one of the wisest decisions I ever could have. I ended the pregnancy. I refuse to feel sorry about it, or hate myself for taking my future...nay, my SANITY into my own hands. It would have been wrong to bring another person into an already noxious environment and make it pay for our mistakes and for my hatred.

One more thing before I finally purge myself of all this bile. I only married you because I was pregnant. I was still in love with him. I knew though that I had already burned that bridge and it was one that could never be rebuilt. And you were so foul to him. He wanted to come to our son’s funeral our of respect for the child that lie beneath the earth, but because we all knew that your mouth, and your temper would get the better of you, and your malcontent towards other Mormons would loosen your serpent-like tongue, he opted to not attend. I didn’t think it was possible for my heart to break any more. But it did. He could never even reach out in friendship to me because of your hegemony over my life and your manipulation of every aspect of it. It should come as no great shock to anyone that our other children find you contemptible and foul!

I have finally, FINALLY heaved the black vomit that has defiled and contaminated my life for all these years.

You are nothing.