Why I Have Never Married

They say you marry your parents. You subconsciously look for something in that other person's eyes that hits your core. Reminds you of the first and deepest love you ever encountered. He's a momma's boy. She's daddy's little girl.

The bond with the mother. The mother's gaze. The most powerful thing on the planet, according to psychologists.

But, what do you do when that binding, bonding first love is fraught with betrayal, shame and pain? In most cases, you still look for that spark of recognition. Even when you consciously do everything you can, to avoid dysfunction. Even when you monitor and track behaviors, trying to assure yourself that it can't happen again with THIS person, it does. Somehow, the pheromones and subconscious mind work together to bring this person into your life. I believe the system exists for evolutionary purposes. In ideal situations, one wants to recreate the familial bond as the generations evolve - keeping that strong hold of love going for as long as it can. Preservation of the species.

But - if you know you don't come from that kind of loving, nurturing background then don't breed! Don't lower the planet's wavering vibration with your own insanity.

Case in point:

I don't know how we all survived growing up with our mother. She had a tremendous burden, for sure. She was a divorcee by the time I was five and she had 3 daughters - 2 of us identical twins - to raise. She had gone to Junior College but didn't have a career path. In her day, you got married and had kids. Period. And mother was breathtakingly beautiful. Dark Italian beauty with gigantic eyes and a regal nose and her perfect ruby lips. She worked as a model - her specialty was fur coats. She was expected to make a good match, despite her "peasant" family in Hershey, PA.

Well, she married a Doctor's son (on the rebound, as the story goes) but he was an alcoholic. It was a brutal household for the 5 years he lived (sporadically) with us. I'll never forget the terror in her eyes when I watched her line up pots and pans underneath the sliding glass door, so she could be warned if Dad came home through the back.

It was too much for her. She had always been a difficult person (according to her family, she had a "personality problem") but, at some point she sort of snapped. And, she started expressing her genetic tendencies for bi-polar and borderline personality disorder. You could not depend on my mother's moods - that's for sure. We were always on guard. Constantly vigilant. Moving with caution around the house - never sure what would set her off. I spent a lot of time in my room, listening to music in my headphones.

Housecleaning was a major personality switching point for her. On Saturdays, she would turn on the Barbra Streisand records and that was when my sisters and I knew all hell was going to break loose. Barbra seemed to be the key to switching my mother's moods. From happy and gentle to terrible and brutal, within the span of one side of an LP. We knew we were all trapped inside of that house, from that point on, and subjected to her militaristic house cleaning regimen. I frequently chose the chore of vacuuming the basement steps, with the hose of the Electrolux. It was slow, methodical detail-driven task that brought me peace. Plus, I could close the basement door and drown out Barbra and mother's screaming with the vacuum. It used to take me an hour to scour the green wall-to-wall carpet on those stairs. My hour of peace, before subjecting myself to the next round of "now this room looks like it is READY to be cleaned!" - what she'd say after we'd spent 3 hours working on our bedroom.

But, even that wasn't the worst part.

The most horrible, gut-wrenching part of living with my mother was when her personality would switch and she would eviscerate and betray you by using every confidence you shared with the happy calm mother, against you. She'd remember little facts and stories and all of a sudden, they would come out all twisted and dirty. She'd accuse me of terrible deeds that never even crossed my mind, by using random examples I'd told her.

Mother told me, from an early age, that I was a lesbian. I didn't even know what that meant, for the first few years. She told me that when I went away to college, everyone would know the truth about me. In retrospect, I believe she was speaking of herself and her own sexuality.

Once I found out what homosexuality was, it didn't seem like such an awful thing to me. I knew that I was attracted to guys. But, I could understand how men could like men and women could like women. I have always had a lot of gay friends. Sometimes, had my eyes opened a little TOO wide!

One of my dearest and closest friends for the past 3 years has been Reg, a deeply closeted gay man of Indian heritage. It is because of Reg that I am alive today.

I was born with a heart-valve condition and was going downhill rapidly. I was ready to die. But, somehow, Reg convinced me to go to the doctor when nobody else could. He paid for me to eat out every day at my friend's restaurant, when I was too weak to hold a job. He supported me as a true friend does. We chatted 3 or 4 times a day online and I shared EVERYTHING with him. I was the ONLY person he could share his "dark" side with. (a shame when being gay is considered a dark side). He understood me like nobody else ever has.

And, then we had a fight last week, after I found out I had been replaced on my job by a white man, who was full-time and being treated with respect. I admit I flew off the handle. But, Reg kept saying "It is in the past! Move on! YOU are the only one keeping this alive." I was livid. It had JUST happened! Give me some time to grieve, man! He was pushing all this fear on me, telling me I'd be sued by the giant corporation who fired me! WHY, I asked, would they waste their time with that??? "Pick your battles" he said. The man has a Jesus-Buddha complex.

I thought it would blow over and our friendship would resume.

But, 2 days ago, I got the most vile, vindictive, hateful email I have ever received in my life from Reg. He dredged up confidences and secrets I had told him years ago and used it all to build a case against my sanity. I wrote back in anger. But, his responses kept getting more and more vicious. I stopped writing back and blocked him from my email and my facebook.

Reg, you see, is bi-polar. Reg is under tremendous stress. Reg lashes out against those he loves, JUST LIKE MY MOTHER. I only understood that this morning.

I had unconsciously chosen someone who was just like my mother.

And THAT, my friends, is why I have never married.