by Pamela Rodriguez

Created on: September 14, 2007   Last Updated: October 31, 2008

One of my most vivid memories is of my mother hiding in her room all day and only venturing out at night after she was sure I was asleep in bed. What kind of way is that to live as a child? My father traveled for work and was rarely home during this time of these strange happens, not that I blame him, I often dreamed I was with him or somewhere else rather then at home with my mother.

I was in Jr high and prior to this my mother and I didn't really get along that well anyway. She was the sort who wore her emotions (mostly anger and displeasure at me and my father) on her sleeve. I was more like my father, someone starts railing at me, I close down and refuse to scream back. I think she hated that about me, I reminded her of my father too much and she was a bit jealous of that.

The incident that I shared earlier happened when I was roughly 11. She had begun menopause and back in those days hormone therapy was in its infancy. She suffered through mental illness associated with the changing hormones and I accept that, but to this day she has never apologized or even acknowledged the effect her behaviour had on me. There was a period of roughly 8-12 months that I never saw my mother. I got myself up and off to school. As soon as I was due back home she would go back to her bedroom and shut the door. I would cook my dinner, do my homework, laundry etc and go to bed. I would hear her come out of her room then and she would be up most of the night wandering the house like some ghost who was once my mother.

Finally in the end, after my father came home one night from a business trip and found her hiding underneath the pool table, refusing to come out, my brothers wife had a heart to heart talk with my mother, convincing her to go see a doctor and soon these strange things ended. But the scars were left. You see, I didn't know what was going on I was too young. I thought it was because she hated me, so she didn't want to be my mother anymore.

My mother takes great delight in pointing out my faults and never misses a time to tell me about them. She was never encouraging or supportive in my life. She didn't really have many kind things to say to me. I remember telling her once about someone who hurt my feelings and she laughed at me and asked me of I knew how silly I sounded. That hurt. She has never told me she loves me, but I have to admit I have never told her either. Two wrongs certainly don't make a right.

The last and worst incident I remember happened just a few years

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