I want to trust my mother.
I want to believe that she loves me, that deep down she cares about me unconditionally and only wants the best for me.
But I know in my heart that none of that is true.
I know who my mother is, and I can read between the lines.
I know that when I go to visit her, she asks me if I’m going to spend the night, not because she wants to see me, but because she wants me to keep her child.
I know this is the same reason she wants to know if I’m coming to my grandmother’s house. Not to see family, but to raise her child.
I know when she asks me if I’m going to stop by on my way home, it’s not because she wants to see me, but because she wants me to pick up food and bring it to her because her not-ex-boyfriend has her car and she can’t drive.
I know my mother.
My mother only loves herself.
My mother does not love me.
She can’t. She doesn’t know how to.
I want to believe that she could. I want to trust what she says – when she says she “really does” want to see me, when she asks me if I’m coming by, I want to believe that it’s because, as a mother, she wants to be involved in the life of her daughter, the one she loves.
But I don’t trust her to do that.
(Even if I really want to.)