[Just My Own Story] The Existence of a Mother and the Choice of Myself

A toxic parent—I still wonder if I can call her that.
My mother was someone who could never fully become a mother or a woman.
She was someone who couldn't live without relying on men.
She came from a rural island and apparently ran away from home right after finishing middle school.
After that, she lived by relying on men she didn't know and working night jobs.

And then, she gave birth to me.
She apparently divorced my father soon after.

■ "You look just like that person"

My mother would always blame me by saying that.
That "person" was my biological father.
While my mother cursed him as a "criminal" and a "heartless person,"
she still repeated that I looked "just like him."

My mother remarried many times.
But she claimed every remarriage was because she needed money to raise me.
"I didn't even like him, but I married him for your sake."
Was it really necessary to say such things to a child?

I had always thought,
maybe it was me who ruined my mother's life.

■ A dilapidated apartment and a home with no escape

Every time my mother's divorce was finalized, life became chaotic.
Men would come and go from the house, and sometimes I saw them walking outside arm in arm.
The house was small, and there was no privacy.
That's why I often spent my nights at internet cafes or friends' houses.

I graduated from university and finally left home.
After that, my mother contacted me several times, but every time we met, I felt more detached.

■ A quiet severance through separation of family register

A few years ago, I went to get a copy of my family register to apply for a passport.
That was when I first found out.
My mother had separated her family register from mine.

I think she probably applied for it on the day we last met or the day after.
I understood that, without me realizing it, this person had become a stranger.

■ Mother as a mirror

My mother had extreme mood swings, and she often distorted memories or held onto delusions.
She was obsessively fixated on surnames and family registers.

My surname was from my third father.
My mother didn't like that, so she had changed it back to the surname of my first father.

But my mother had good points, too.
She was easy to trust others. She would give her all to those she trusted.
It's just that she trusted them too blindly.
And then, if there was no return, she would hold unreasonable grudges.

That was the kind of person she was.

■ What I learned

I learned many things from my mother as a negative example.
The thing most deeply engraved in me was—
"The only person who can save you is yourself." That is.

Relying on others is certainly comfortable.
But the moment you entrust your happiness to someone else, it belongs to them.

Even if you grow up in the same environment,
it is "the person themselves" who decides whether they are happy or unhappy.

Today, too, I am
making the choice to "live my own life."