无条件的母爱

　　I was a rotten teenager. Not a common spoiled, know-it-all, not-going-to-clean-my room, and self-conscious teenager. No, I was sharp-tongued and eager to control others. I told lies. And I realized at an early age that I could make things go my way with just a few small changes. The writers for today's hottest soap opera could not have created a worse character than me.

　　For the most part, and on the outside, I was a good kid, a giggly tomboy who liked to play sports and who was good at competition. This is probably why most people forgave me for my bad behavior towards people I felt to be of value.

　　Since I was clever enough to get some people to give in to me, I don't know how long it took me to realize how I was hurting so many others. Not only did I succeed in pushing away many of my closest friends by trying to control them; I also managed to destroy, time and time again, the most precious relationship in my life: my relationship with my mother.

　　Even today, almost 10 years since the birth of the new me, my former behavior astonishes me each time I reach into my memories. Hurtful words that cut and stung the people I cared most about. Acts of confusion and anger that seemed to rule my every move―all to make sure that things went my way.

　　My mother, who gave birth to me at age 38 against her doctor's wishes, would cry to me, "I waited so long for you, please don't push me away. I want to help you!"

　　I would reply sharply, "I didn't ask for you! I never wanted you to care about me! Leave me alone and forget I ever lived!"

　　My mother began to believe I really meant it. My actions proved that.

　　I was mean and eager to control, trying to get my way at any cost. Like many young girls in high school, the boys whom I knew were impossible were always the first ones I had to date. I would get out of the house without my mother's knowing very late at night just to prove I could do it. I would readily tell complex lies without hesitation. I would also try to find any way to draw attention to myself while at the same time trying to be invisible.

　　I had been heavy into drugs during that period of my life, taking mind-changing pills and smoking things that changed my personality. That accounted for the terrible, sharp words that came flying from my mouth. However, that was not the case. My only addiction was hatred; my only pleasure was to make people feel pain.

　　But then I asked myself why. Why the need to hurt? And why the people I cared about the most? Why the need for all the lies? Why the attacks on my mother? I would drive myself mad with all the whys until one day, I couldn't stand it any longer and jump from a car moving at 80 miles per hour.

　　Lying awake the following night at the hospital, I came to realize that I didn't want to die.

　　And I did not want to inflict any more pain on people to cover up what I was truly trying to hide myself: self-hatred. Self-hatred inflicted on everyone else.

　　I saw my mother's pained face for the first time in years―warm, tired brown eyes filled with nothing but thanks for her daughter's rebirth of life and love for the child she waited 38 years to bear.

　　My first experience with unconditional love. What a powerful feeling.

　　Despite all the lies I had told her, she still loved me. I cried on her lap for hours one afternoon and asked why she still loved me after all the horrible things I did to her. She just looked down at me, brushed the hair out of my face and said frankly, "I don't know."

　　A kind of smile came out of her tears as the lines in her tested face told me all that I needed to know. I was her daughter, but more important, she was my mother. Not every rotten child is so lucky. Not every mother can be pushed to the limits time and time again, and come back with feelings of love.

　　Unconditional love is the most precious gift we can give. Being forgiven for the past is the most precious gift we can receive. I dare not say we could experience this pure love twice in one lifetime.

　　I was one of the lucky ones. I know that. I want to extend the gift my mother gave me to all the "rotten teenagers" in the world who are confused.

　　It's okay to feel pain, to need help, to feel love―just feel it without hiding. Come out from under the hard and protective covers, and take a breath of life.

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