based on true events
Some people are a reflection of ourselves and it’s not always attractive.
She was too much for most people; unfiltered speech, reactive temperament. Impulsive. Unrefined. It was part of her DNA predisposition, not a birthright, but a self-imposed sense of entitlement. The gap between her feisty personality and her undeveloped maturity to properly navigate through life crossed everyone else's boundaries.
Rita was a hot mess in connexion to her strong, corrective upbringing. Somehow, the alignment between proficient parental guidance and her mother’s unconditional love was amiss, and placed Rita at a premature disadvantage for life’s hurdles with social interaction. How was this possible with such brilliant parental teachings?
Her mother was a feisty woman, raised in a convent. She had a rebellious streak and ran from the monastery only to become one of the country’s greatest fostering parents. She came highly recommended with the ability to transform the worst of the worst adolescent behavioral traits. She was stern, untiring and boisterous, much the same as her daughter, but for very different reasons. She was educated with engaging in role play, reverse psychology, and corrective behaviour patterns; nothing proved more lucrative than a rebellious teen in need of authoritative reform. She was not mean, but curative without abusing her power. From past stories told of her having been raised by nuns, her patience and fortitude seemed to be deep-seated from a well-structured environment.
At fourteen I was fostered by Rita's mother –a woman who I later in life deemed remarkable in her ability to make a person see things from another perspective. I was that child who initially rebelled against her strictness and determination, and all the while, she continued to prove her loyalty and determination. By all accredited accounts, she was adept to course correct my mindset.
The remarkable credentials Rita's mother attained for fostering numerous defiant children, helping to transform and successfully reunited them with their families was a proven track record that her expertise was in high demand. Her daughter, Rita was sought after as well –wanted by police in a couple of provinces for her notorious behavior.
Rita was simply not her mother. She had not experienced life under the same strict parameters to fairly manage her inbred intrusive, boisterous personality, nor did she have fostering credentials and yet she felt entitled to piggyback the success that her mother earned. She had a tall order to fill if she was to reach even an ounce of success her mother achieved, and she went on to do just that!
From the depths of hardcore drugs to the top of management, Rita scaled mountains that most could not see to achieve. She had an unstoppable ambitious streak, aspiring to prove to her mother that she was a heroic success story. Unfortunately, she was about as rude a player in life as any unrefined bitch who demanded admiration by way of her innate wilful nature and snobbish bravado. Rita wittingly used the praise of her mother’s commendable achievements as an excuse for reign over others.
Ironically, in no way, shape or form, did her mother recognize this anti-social behavior for what it was. Instead, Rita's credible competence glowed like a halo when she suggested to open her home to my fostering needs. Rita's mother agreed, but nothing could have prepared me for such a wretched spoiler of a woman whom I’d met only briefly met once before.
At first, Rita was inviting, everything was well manicured. Her hair. My clothes. Our nails. We even had boots to match our brand-named purses –it was a young girl’s dream team. She seemed genuinely concerned for my well being, and insisted that if I needed anything, I was not to be shy, just ask, otherwise I wouldn’t get. I was enrolled back into school and offered praise for how well she made me look and behave. Indirect compliments, and many more to be dished out.
based on true events
Rita didn’t fear anything. She made that clear when we attended her husband’s band concert where she threatened a woman’s life for merely bumping into her. She had a wicked temperament and a booming vulgar voice. Strangely, I felt protected, because I was after all, still a foster teen in need of reform with erratic behaviours of my own. This wasn’t quite how I saw myself back then, but I aware of my feral side.
Within a couple of weeks, our personalities clashed under my need for guidance and her need for appreciation. Rita's concern for my well being was obviously second fiddle next to her demands that I see how much she was doing for me. She quickly grew annoyed that I wasn’t offering daily gratitude for how many positive changes she brought into my life from providing the necessities to how well I was groomed and behaved because of her. As whoa is me goes, I couldn’t find appreciation or satisfaction in most things about myself, let alone able to provide that for her. But I avowed to try harder. She accepted my agreement by stating that was all she required.
Most days thereafter were spent with my planning how to avoid Rita, because honestly, I found it hard to express how wonderful she was when I seen her as self righteous and exploiting. The more I dodged her, the trust between us diminished. My aloofness pissed her off. She had nothing to say, and soon excluded me from dinners and all conversations.
I, too, like Rita, was a hothead, the difference was that I was fifteen. Rita was thirty something. She had no children of her own or foster-parenting credentials to aid in her ability to manage my lack of people skills, and I was eyeballs deep with ADHD traits. Still, I could have easily bowed down to her, but that wasn't really what she wanted. I was just another pet project; it was written all over her personality. No amount of praise from anyone, not even her husband, mother, or friends, was enough to sustain her need of even the slightest recognition. Rita had a severe case of socio-narcissistic traits.
There came a point when, unfortunately, I landed myself in a pickle of a predicament where a few teens caused a stir and my adding fuel to the fire by retaliating made things worse. I called Rita, explained the situation and asked if she could pick me up. She said I was on my own. Thing went from bad to worse.
That night I stayed at a friend’s place, recovering from a black eye, battered body, and a bruised ego. I felt alone, but familiar with having attracted this kind of abuse and successive abandonment into my world. It was the norm at home, school, playgrounds, in and out of team sports. Not that I pitied myself, it was par for the course of my ADHD behaviour.
Whether it was my fault, or not for the fight that happened the night before, I was embarrassed and let down that Rita didn’t at least pick me up. Upon returning to her place, she insisted I give back the house key and that I come straight home after school or be locked out for the night. Understandable. She boasted about how no one ever made her look the way I did with my blackeye, and then offered to match it with a pop to my other eye. Said she’d be glad to oblige. Like I said, she was easy to read.
When Rita finished telling me what a disappointment I was to her bogus image, I went to my room, called my mom and asked if I could come home. At this point, in my short life, mom was very much accustomed to my short-lived promises, and still, she was the only one I reached out to when in need of comfort. She said no.
based on true events
After I hung up the phone, Rita barged in through the door accusing me of tarnishing her image, that I was trying to make her look bad. She rushed at me, cocking her fist in my face, enjoying my cowardice as she backlashed me with an onslaught of insults and threats. I stood up on the bed to escape her freak show. She hoped up to meet me where I stood with my back against the wall. Her eyes were hugely protruded as she bounced me from this world into her crazy lunatic fringe!
Rita sprang up and down on the bed in a half crouch with heavy legs, taking the pose of a sumo wrestler. She jarred out with a few pops to my head, asking if I liked to be punched, and behind her wicked, maniacal “gotcha” kind of bouncy hysteria, she screamed that I had no where else to go! The pleasure was all hers when she accused me of taking pleasure in being a tattle-telling snitch.
Fact or Fiction:
Truth be told...
I was foolhardy, a rebellious teen who gained a sudden life-altering epiphany. Ironically, Rita's lunatic behaviour was more effective over my future self than any structured, parental influential environment I had been in previously. In an instant, so it seemed, my perspective changed, not because of threats from Rita or having been demeaned by her, but because I seen myself twenty years from this time as the person she was. It scared the hell out of my rebellious side.
I am grateful everyday that she never knew how effective her ignorance was in changing my life for the better, and how much I truly appreciated her (wink-wink).
diCHOTOMY | Hoodwinked| KIND VIXEN | PSEUDO
LEUKOTOMY | UP DOWN | GENTLE FREAK | THE SWITCH
SHAKE UP | MECHANIC | DUALITY | LOCO