And maybe that’s why it was so heart-breaking when she finally came out of her coma and asked the doctor who the freak with the gender-confusion was. When he informed her that I was her son she didn’t even know what to say. She just sat there, completely flabbergasted. I mean, she didn’t even bother to ask who Natalie was and she actually looked like a Barbie doll at that point.
I remember wanting to die at that very moment, and I remember running out of her room and into the bathroom to shoot up another bag. It didn’t help much. The pain was too extreme, and it wasn’t because my mother had blatantly insulted me after I had waited two long months for her to wake up, or even the fact that she didn’t know who I was. But it was because shrouded beneath whatever pretense she had fashioned before her overdose, she was actually disgusted by me. She had lied straight to my face. All of those times she smiled at me, telling me that I was okay- that I was normal- it was all bullshit. In the end, she didn’t even want to acknowledge that I was her child. She didn’t even want to know who I was.
My own mother didn’t want to know who I was. Sometimes I wonder if that’s why I never really bothered to find out either.