The company my mother works for owes over a million dollars in back taxes. They paid it today, officially obliterating their 2010 budget. She doesn’t have enough to pay the bills this month. She’s not sure she’ll have enough to cover rent next month. And Christmas? Well, once again, Christmas will be just a day. It won’t even be about family bonding, or celebrating the birth of Christ, because she’ll be ashamed that she couldn’t make it a big deal for us, and therefore she’ll be pissy, and everybody will just end up in a pretty bad mood.

She hasn’t asked yet. I don’t think she’s going to. I think she’s going to wait for me to offer. Which I will. Of course I will. She’s my mother. This is my family. But I need to vent about it first.

Because it happens every single fucking time.

She can never keep a job. She never has enough. She lives outside her means. And something always falls through. She can’t blame the economy. This has been happening forever. She never has enough. And she always finds a way to get it from me. Whether it be my college fund (which is gone), or my tiny inheritence from my Nana last year (which is gone), or my measley movie theatre paycheck, she always finds a way to take it from me. And it’s not that I wouldn’t give it to her. I always give it to her. And I try really hard not to complain. This is my mother, remember? This is my family, remember? Of course, of course I’ll take care of them. It’s the least I can do to repay her for everything she’s done for me, right? That’s what you’re thinking. Because, in general, mother’s do things for their children. So you’re thinking I owe her. You’re thinking she gave me life, and I owe her.

But I honestly can’t remember her doing that much for me. You want to know what I remember?

I remember her boyfriend holding me underwater in a bathtub and raping me. I remember her not believing me when I told her. I remember her staying with him. I remember her beating the shit out of me for years after he left her. Claiming that it was my fault. I remember when she wouldn’t watch her children, when she would leave for hours, for days, and I’d just have her kids. I remember thinking that she was my mother. That she gave me life, that this was me repaying her. I remember the first time she stole from me. I remember her telling me her life would be so much better without me. I remember her making me clean the entire house with a toothbrush. I remember her calling me from my bedroom to the kitchen, where she was sitting, to have me make her a sandwhich. I remember her finding God, and apologizing. I remember forgiving her. Or at least, trying really hard to forgive her. I guess it didn’t work as well as I thought. I remember us coming into some money and her trying to kiss it and make it better with a laptop. That doesn’t work now, by the way, I’m on the house computer.

And now here it is, happening all over again. She needs money. And she’s not going to ask. She’s just expecting me to give it to her. Because I always do.

And you know what? I will. I’m going to hit “create post”, and I’m going to reread this once, and then I’m going to delete it, because I can’t stand having my business out in the street like this. I just need to type it. And then I’m going to go in her room and tell her we’ll just pull the money from my savings. That we’ll make everything work. That everything will be alright.

Because she’s my mother. This is my family. She gave me life. I owe her, right?