My apologies for taking a break from my fiction series, but an event happened the other day that I really need to work out before I can get back to my story. Admittedly, A. is probably the only person upset I haven't added a new chapter, but I needed to purge these thoughts from my head first.
I was making dinner on Monday night when I received a text from my mom. It said,
"We just got a card from (nursing home) in (town). It looks like Uncle S.'s writing. It is addressed to you. Do you want us to open it?"
I cannot express how I felt when I got this text. Throughout my therapy, I've tried to accept the fact that I may never know what happened to me. I've tried to accept that I'd never hear from my uncle again, that I'd never be able to ask him any questions about my past, that he was possibly dead. I've just tried to let it go, to shut that door forever. With that one text from my mom, the door has been cracked open.
My heart dropped into my stomach. Instant anxiety. The first contact from my abuser in over 10 years.
The thoughts raced through my head.
I need them to open that.
I need to know what it says.
It might upset Mom.
Doesn't matter. I need to know.
I wrote my mom back. I told her that I wanted them to open it. I also told her that it was ok if just Dad opened it, if my mom thought it would upset her. While my parents both know I'm in therapy for something my uncle did to me, I've never shared any details. Uncle S. is my mom's brother and I think the knowledge that he did something to me greatly distresses her.
I guess my mom needed to know, however. She opened the letter and wrote me back:
"It is a card that says, 'Thinking of You'. There is a note also. 'Well, don't know how to begin so I will keep it short. It's been so long. I hope you and (brother)'s life is good. I think of him also. You were the closest to me. I'm living in (nursing home) probably around 10 years after being homeless. I finally got a tablet and gmail and I'm learning but still not that good. I hope to see you and (brother) one day. (insert email) I love you.'"
I was floored. I had so many reactions, so many thoughts. Mainly anxiety. Anger. Hurt. Questioning everything I've ever thought.
This letter said basically nothing. What was I expecting? An admission of guilt? I think I was expecting an admission of guilt or, at the very least, some answers.
I went to bed on Monday night feeling numb.
I woke up feeling distraught on Tuesday. It was a gray, rainy day but I told A. that I must run. I ran outside with no cell phone, no headphones. Only A. following me slowly in the car. I ran until I couldn't run anymore. I ran until my legs and back hurt, and I was puffing on air. I ran until my head cleared minutely.
A million voices pummeled me while I ran. There was an angry voice screaming "HOW DARE HE??? WHO DOES HE THINK HE IS???"
There was also the underlying sinister voice that always says, "Maybe his note said nothing because nothing happened. Maybe he's just a sad, lonely uncle reaching out to his favorite niece."
I ran until I outran these voices.
I don't know how I'm feeling today. All over the place would probably be an accurate description. Luckily, I have therapy tomorrow so I'm hoping my therapist can help me sort this out. I think what I need to sort out is if I'm going to contact my uncle back. Part of me says that's a ridiculous idea because my uncle is manipulative and a liar. Part of me says that due to this, I'll never get the truth anyway. Part of me says I need to at least contact him to tell him that I know what he did, he did not get away with it, and to never contact me again.
There's only a couple of things I know for a fact after receiving this information:
1. My uncle is alive.
2. He tried to contact me.
The biggest question I'm left with is this: Why now? Why did he reach out to me now, after all these years?
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 2, 2015
Tuesday, July 28, 2015
Home From Vacation: Part II
Well. I certainly didn't plan to be gone for a month. It just happened. Expect this to be a rambling post, and I'm not sure whether it will long or short yet.
I think I mentioned in an earlier post that I run a food blog. About 2 months ago, I decided to take a break and I pretty much made the commitment that I would return after the Oregon vacation. I was just getting back into the swing of things. By the swing of things, I mean that I normally post 3-4 times a week. I'd think I'd posted about a week's worth of work when disaster struck. I was putting the final touches on a post, when I dropped my cup of coffee on the computer. How does one do that? I cursed and ran around the house, but eventually I thought I had it cleaned and dried. The computer worked fine until about 3pm that afternoon when it suddenly died and would not turn back on. It still hasn't ever turned back on.
A. and I ended up driving about 2 hours to get to the nearest Mac store, just to find out that they only stock Mac Book Air's, not regular laptops. We basically drove 2 hours just to order a laptop and be assured it would arrive in 7-10 business days. For the love. So, I was without a computer for almost 2 weeks.
I felt gagged. Binded. No way to release my creativity. No way to write in my journal. I ended up going to bed at 8 pm and dragging my butt from bed at 8 am those days. That's a lot of sleeping time, even for me. I tried to keep up exercise, but I felt lack-luster. Luckily, I kept creating recipes and taking lots of pictures.
The computer finally arrived, and not a moment too soon. I'd begun to receive harassing phone calls from friends and family members wondering why the heck there were no food posts. I was feeling the pressure. A. got the new laptop up and running and handed it over to me to get caught up. I plugged my trusty camera into the new computer and prepared to import the photos.
There were 400. Combine that with 300 from the old computer that I hadn't edited yet. That's a freakin' ton of photos to have on deck to edit. I normally edit shoot-to-shoot to avoid getting overwhelmed, and needless to say this group of 700 photos consisted of about 7 shoots.
I felt buried.
I ended up tackling the photos the same way I do everything. One photo at a time. It took me an entire evening, but I made my way through them. The food blog is caught up, photos are caught up, now what?
I have been feeling a lot better since vacation. I think I've adjusted back to real time. I sometimes wonder how much of an effect our diets have on our mental health and for how long. I ate tons of food in Oregon that I never eat anymore. Stuff that is processed and made with lots of chemicals and preservatives. I'd been feeling immensely better since cleaning up my diet and then boom. 2 weeks of eating dirty and I'm right back where I used to be. Slow. Listless. Hopeless. Angry. Distracted. The opposite of mindful.
Is there a connection? I suspect so, but I'm no scientist. I'm back on my normal "diet". I don't diet (as in watch what I eat for calories) so when I say diet, I just mean what I eat normally every day. I follow an IF (intermittent fasting) lifestyle, which I believe also contributes to my clear head. Most days I don't eat until after 1 pm, usually later. I have coffee in the morning, and I drink water throughout the day, but I don't eat much the first half of the day. IF is not for everyone, but it's something I've accepted after I realized I was following it without knowing it almost my entire life. There are numerous articles out there extolling the benefits of fasting, I can vouch that I feel a lot of them. No, I'm not hungry all day. No, I don't think about food 24 hours a day. Like I said, my body has pretty much been doing this my entire life anyway, I just recognize it now. When I do get to eating, I try to eat mostly clean. One of my favorite afternoon snacks to break the fast is homemade guacamole made with avocados, red onion, cilantro, lime, and a little kosher salt. So good, and mostly clean. Dinner is usually vegetarian, chicken, or fish with LOTS of vegetables. I snack a lot after dinner, eating a ton of fruit. Usually a bowl of peaches, raspberries, strawberries, grapes, kiwis, or watermelon. I usually have a bowl of air-popped popcorn. I always end the night with a cup of chamomile tea and a piece of dark chocolate. I think eating this way clears a majority of the cobwebs that seem to gather in my head.
I'm still up about 2 lbs from Oregon, but I think that will come off eventually. I've trying to get back to my routine of exercising daily, but sometimes it seems that something always comes up. I'm doing my best though, in fact, I ran a straight mile yesterday for the first time in months.
I bitched a lot about my garden in the last post, and most of that stuff remains true. Unfortunately. I'm not going to have a cucumber, zucchini, or pumpkin crop this year. Thanks to Jiffy pots. A word of advice? Those little pots DO NOT decompose, run far FAR away if you see these in the store. I may have some tomatoes, but that remains to be seen. I'm trying to keep the potatoes from death. The plants and leaves all turned yellow with black spots, and just when I was about to throw in the towel and dig everything up, the potatoes began growing new growth. I'm treating them everyday with baking soda fungicide and DE, so we'll see. I began a new pot of cilantro, which is growing fabulously. Other than that, my herbs are growing great. Peppers? Perfection! I'm trying not to be too hard on myself for my garden failures, after all it's only my 2nd year doing it and I've learned a ton. But no Jiffy pots next year. Never again!
The puppy? Almost potty-trained. We eventually had to block off most of the house and only give the little guy the living room to explore. This has led to him always going to the door to be let out.
Reading over this post, I'm reminded of how utterly useless my anxiety is. I worried, and worried, and then worried some more about that Oregon trip. Everything I thought would go wrong at home almost did. But what did that worry help? Everything happened anyway. And everything eventually got cleaned up and put back to normal. Why do I sit and stress about what's going to happen and cleaning it up? Again, what purpose does that serve? I could sit here and examine my anxiety from every angle, and I would still think it was useless. And yet, I would still feel it. I would still have it.
What a rambling post indeed. As I was writing this post, I remembered one other Oregon issue I wanted to talk about. And I don't have the energy to do it now. So, one more vacation wrap-up post and then I'm going to move on those intriguing flowing ideas I get when I'm running or doing yoga :)
I think I mentioned in an earlier post that I run a food blog. About 2 months ago, I decided to take a break and I pretty much made the commitment that I would return after the Oregon vacation. I was just getting back into the swing of things. By the swing of things, I mean that I normally post 3-4 times a week. I'd think I'd posted about a week's worth of work when disaster struck. I was putting the final touches on a post, when I dropped my cup of coffee on the computer. How does one do that? I cursed and ran around the house, but eventually I thought I had it cleaned and dried. The computer worked fine until about 3pm that afternoon when it suddenly died and would not turn back on. It still hasn't ever turned back on.
A. and I ended up driving about 2 hours to get to the nearest Mac store, just to find out that they only stock Mac Book Air's, not regular laptops. We basically drove 2 hours just to order a laptop and be assured it would arrive in 7-10 business days. For the love. So, I was without a computer for almost 2 weeks.
I felt gagged. Binded. No way to release my creativity. No way to write in my journal. I ended up going to bed at 8 pm and dragging my butt from bed at 8 am those days. That's a lot of sleeping time, even for me. I tried to keep up exercise, but I felt lack-luster. Luckily, I kept creating recipes and taking lots of pictures.
The computer finally arrived, and not a moment too soon. I'd begun to receive harassing phone calls from friends and family members wondering why the heck there were no food posts. I was feeling the pressure. A. got the new laptop up and running and handed it over to me to get caught up. I plugged my trusty camera into the new computer and prepared to import the photos.
There were 400. Combine that with 300 from the old computer that I hadn't edited yet. That's a freakin' ton of photos to have on deck to edit. I normally edit shoot-to-shoot to avoid getting overwhelmed, and needless to say this group of 700 photos consisted of about 7 shoots.
I felt buried.
I ended up tackling the photos the same way I do everything. One photo at a time. It took me an entire evening, but I made my way through them. The food blog is caught up, photos are caught up, now what?
I have been feeling a lot better since vacation. I think I've adjusted back to real time. I sometimes wonder how much of an effect our diets have on our mental health and for how long. I ate tons of food in Oregon that I never eat anymore. Stuff that is processed and made with lots of chemicals and preservatives. I'd been feeling immensely better since cleaning up my diet and then boom. 2 weeks of eating dirty and I'm right back where I used to be. Slow. Listless. Hopeless. Angry. Distracted. The opposite of mindful.
Is there a connection? I suspect so, but I'm no scientist. I'm back on my normal "diet". I don't diet (as in watch what I eat for calories) so when I say diet, I just mean what I eat normally every day. I follow an IF (intermittent fasting) lifestyle, which I believe also contributes to my clear head. Most days I don't eat until after 1 pm, usually later. I have coffee in the morning, and I drink water throughout the day, but I don't eat much the first half of the day. IF is not for everyone, but it's something I've accepted after I realized I was following it without knowing it almost my entire life. There are numerous articles out there extolling the benefits of fasting, I can vouch that I feel a lot of them. No, I'm not hungry all day. No, I don't think about food 24 hours a day. Like I said, my body has pretty much been doing this my entire life anyway, I just recognize it now. When I do get to eating, I try to eat mostly clean. One of my favorite afternoon snacks to break the fast is homemade guacamole made with avocados, red onion, cilantro, lime, and a little kosher salt. So good, and mostly clean. Dinner is usually vegetarian, chicken, or fish with LOTS of vegetables. I snack a lot after dinner, eating a ton of fruit. Usually a bowl of peaches, raspberries, strawberries, grapes, kiwis, or watermelon. I usually have a bowl of air-popped popcorn. I always end the night with a cup of chamomile tea and a piece of dark chocolate. I think eating this way clears a majority of the cobwebs that seem to gather in my head.
I'm still up about 2 lbs from Oregon, but I think that will come off eventually. I've trying to get back to my routine of exercising daily, but sometimes it seems that something always comes up. I'm doing my best though, in fact, I ran a straight mile yesterday for the first time in months.
I bitched a lot about my garden in the last post, and most of that stuff remains true. Unfortunately. I'm not going to have a cucumber, zucchini, or pumpkin crop this year. Thanks to Jiffy pots. A word of advice? Those little pots DO NOT decompose, run far FAR away if you see these in the store. I may have some tomatoes, but that remains to be seen. I'm trying to keep the potatoes from death. The plants and leaves all turned yellow with black spots, and just when I was about to throw in the towel and dig everything up, the potatoes began growing new growth. I'm treating them everyday with baking soda fungicide and DE, so we'll see. I began a new pot of cilantro, which is growing fabulously. Other than that, my herbs are growing great. Peppers? Perfection! I'm trying not to be too hard on myself for my garden failures, after all it's only my 2nd year doing it and I've learned a ton. But no Jiffy pots next year. Never again!
The puppy? Almost potty-trained. We eventually had to block off most of the house and only give the little guy the living room to explore. This has led to him always going to the door to be let out.
Reading over this post, I'm reminded of how utterly useless my anxiety is. I worried, and worried, and then worried some more about that Oregon trip. Everything I thought would go wrong at home almost did. But what did that worry help? Everything happened anyway. And everything eventually got cleaned up and put back to normal. Why do I sit and stress about what's going to happen and cleaning it up? Again, what purpose does that serve? I could sit here and examine my anxiety from every angle, and I would still think it was useless. And yet, I would still feel it. I would still have it.
What a rambling post indeed. As I was writing this post, I remembered one other Oregon issue I wanted to talk about. And I don't have the energy to do it now. So, one more vacation wrap-up post and then I'm going to move on those intriguing flowing ideas I get when I'm running or doing yoga :)
Friday, June 26, 2015
Home From Vacation: Part I
I haven't written in awhile. I just got home yesterday from my annual trip to visit my parents. Gone for 2 weeks, but it might as well have been a month. I'm feeling super foggy and disorientated. It's crazy how far from your routine you can get in 2 weeks. It's going to take some time to feel back to normal, to get my body off vacation time. During vacation, everything feels like excess. Too much food, too much drink, too much smoking, too much socializing, too much shopping... It's a time of the year I enjoy the American lifestyle, just as everyone else in this country does. My problem with this is there's not a lot of time for self-reflection. How can you when you are running around all day, constantly sending your brain little jolts of pleasure from alcohol, from food, from shopping all day long... Constantly talking. And talking. And talking. All those words mean very little when you haven't found peace with yourself.
So today, I start trudging back to a clearer mind. Working hard outside, yoga and meditation, regular exercise, and regular fasting. Eating lots of vegetables, not so much meat (we must have ate 3 truckloads of red meat on our vacation), and water more than anything. I think I gained 5-8 lbs on the trip, which is probably also fogging up my brain.
Ugh. I'll feel better in a week or so.
In the meantime, I'd thought I'd talk about my trip. To start with, I have never not wanted to go on a trip as much as this one. I dreaded it for days. I got anxious about it at least a week beforehand. I was nervous about leaving the puppy, and it was such a bad time of year to leave the garden. I knew my husband's aunt and uncle wouldn't feed my birds or change my hummingbird feeder. But the tickets were bought in January, circumstances be damned.
What did I find when I got home yesterday?
The puppy seems to have forgotten all of his potty training. He's going everywhere in the house. He peed in the bed last night, and he's never done that. I spent an hour last night with a roll of paper towels and the carpet cleaner, just roving from room to room cleaning up urine stains. The cilantro bolted in the garden. Something is seriously eating the potato plants. My cucumber plants turned yellow. My bird bath hasn't been scrubbed in two weeks. Something dug up and ate my lavender starts. The bird feeders were all empty, and even though I've filled them, no one has returned. The house is filthy. Laundry is flowing out of the hamper onto the floor.
I. am. frustrated.
Almost everything I thought would happen during vacation, did. Minus one of the dogs getting lost, and I might have actually killed my husband's family if that had happened.
So, I was dreading the trip. But I went. The anxiety seemed to lessen as soon as the hubby and I left for the airport. It's almost like my body knew that there was nothing I could do now. Travel went smoothly and we arrived in Oregon at 10 in the morning. The initial meeting with my brother and dad was a blur, as was lunch soon after. In fact the rest of the day is kind of blurry from jet lag, my husband and I ended up in bed very early.
The trip had begun.
I didn't notice right away, but I did notice soon after arriving how different my brother was acting. He'd last come out to visit us in the South last August, and that trip was pretty jovial and relaxing. Now, my brother seemed angry. And bitter. And lashed out at everyone. He said some hurtful things to me, and about issues that are extremely important to me. One of his comments has been burned in my head, probably forever. My brother is a high school teacher, and basketball coach, and near the end of the school year, one of his players committed suicide. My brother was telling my husband that because he is a teacher, he had to be sympathetic and compassionate to the students and parents. He said he had to "say the right thing". But deep down, he didn't feel sympathy. He said he thought that student was selfish and was trying to become a martyr. He said the kid was trying to make sure that everyone focused on him and talked about him at graduation. He then said he thought that kid was a "piece of shit".
I was floored. Shocked. Rocked.
How could anyone say that? I walked away at this time, but I thought a lot about what he said. Such a lack of empathy, especially for someone I thought was exactly like me. I thought my brother put on a big show of being an asshole and pretending not to have feelings, but maybe it's not a show. Maybe he really doesn't care. Maybe he really doesn't have compassion, and empathy for others. His student drove his car off a cliff. When that didn't kill him, he kicked the windshield out of the car, climbed the cliff, and proceeded to find a tree and hang himself. That is pure desperation there. Pure and simple. Human brains have evolved over millions of years to have systems that protect us from suicide. One of the brain's main functions is to keep us alive. People have to be sick, very sick, in order to override those systems. I know what it's like to look out at the world from eyes that see nothing but pain, destruction, unhappiness, inequality, and despair. I know what it's like to feel like you can't stand a single second more. It's terrifying to have those thoughts. These thoughts almost feel physical at times, like an anchor tied to your ankle in the ocean. When you are at the bottom, it literally feels like you're drowning. How can my brother not see how desperate that poor kid was? That he was sick, and he saw no other alternative than to do what he did?
I feel like I don't know who my brother is anymore. It almost felt like I was punched in the stomach when I realized that my brother is fake.
He says the right things. He pretends to care. He smiles and pats the kids on the back, but who knows what he's thinking inside. He says the right things to me. Is this for real? I found myself, for most of the trip, second-guessing everything he said. Did he mean what he just said, or was that sarcasm? This, of course, let to lots of retrospection on my brother's failed marriage, which ended 1 year ago. My brother got engaged after dating this girl for about 9 months. They were married within 6 months of that. She left about 16 months into the marriage, and they are now divorced. My mom and my brother talk mad shit about this girl. They say horrible, awful things like she was manipulative, a liar, and a bitch. They appall me.
I don't agree with the way my former sister-in-law went about things, but I'll just say this, she is in no way the things that my family says about her. She was a good person, with a good heart. They just did not make a good match. For one, she was very religious and my whole family is squarely in the Agnostic/Athiest camp. This, for me, was the biggest red flag. The second biggest problem was that she doesn't smoke or approve of smoking, and my brother is a stoner. A huge stoner. I think these 2 factors alone are enough for anyone to say that this might not be a forever-match here.
My former sister-in-law said it was ok that my brother was Agnostic. I think that was a lie.
My former sister-in-law said it was ok that my brother smoked weed. Occasionally. I think that was a lie.
But let's be honest, this girl was 22 when they got married. At 22, I still told guys what they wanted to hear in order to have a relationship. You always think you can change someone if they love you enough. I thought this way. I think most young girls do. Does this make them a bad person? Fuck no. It makes them youthful, optimistic, and immature, but that's what the majority of people are at 22. It's a sign of youth, not of being manipulative. And in defense of my former sister-in-law, I'm pretty sure my brother put on his good-guy act until they got married. I guarantee that this girl started to see the real person behind my brother's persona, and she probably realized she didn't even know this person. Put that together with their major lifestyle differences and of course someone is going to pull the plug on this marriage.
I forgive my former sister-in-law. I understand that these 2 people were fundamentally different. Our time on Earth is so incredibly short, we can't waste a second being unhappy. In the long run, I think my brother will be better off. He'll find someone (hopefully) that's also agnostic, and perhaps a little bit of a liberal, pot-smoking hippy. And it will work so much better. So why harbor so much animosity?
If you want to get down to brass-tax, I think my brother is in the "Anger" phase of his grieving. It must have been that he was so busy during the school year that he didn't process any of his emotions, and he's just now having time to think about it. All I can say is, I hope this phase passes. I also hope comments he made were made out of anger, and not out of him revealing his true self.
I've got lots more talking about the trip to do, but unfortunately, I also have quite a long to-do list. Till next time!
So today, I start trudging back to a clearer mind. Working hard outside, yoga and meditation, regular exercise, and regular fasting. Eating lots of vegetables, not so much meat (we must have ate 3 truckloads of red meat on our vacation), and water more than anything. I think I gained 5-8 lbs on the trip, which is probably also fogging up my brain.
Ugh. I'll feel better in a week or so.
In the meantime, I'd thought I'd talk about my trip. To start with, I have never not wanted to go on a trip as much as this one. I dreaded it for days. I got anxious about it at least a week beforehand. I was nervous about leaving the puppy, and it was such a bad time of year to leave the garden. I knew my husband's aunt and uncle wouldn't feed my birds or change my hummingbird feeder. But the tickets were bought in January, circumstances be damned.
What did I find when I got home yesterday?
The puppy seems to have forgotten all of his potty training. He's going everywhere in the house. He peed in the bed last night, and he's never done that. I spent an hour last night with a roll of paper towels and the carpet cleaner, just roving from room to room cleaning up urine stains. The cilantro bolted in the garden. Something is seriously eating the potato plants. My cucumber plants turned yellow. My bird bath hasn't been scrubbed in two weeks. Something dug up and ate my lavender starts. The bird feeders were all empty, and even though I've filled them, no one has returned. The house is filthy. Laundry is flowing out of the hamper onto the floor.
I. am. frustrated.
Almost everything I thought would happen during vacation, did. Minus one of the dogs getting lost, and I might have actually killed my husband's family if that had happened.
So, I was dreading the trip. But I went. The anxiety seemed to lessen as soon as the hubby and I left for the airport. It's almost like my body knew that there was nothing I could do now. Travel went smoothly and we arrived in Oregon at 10 in the morning. The initial meeting with my brother and dad was a blur, as was lunch soon after. In fact the rest of the day is kind of blurry from jet lag, my husband and I ended up in bed very early.
The trip had begun.
I didn't notice right away, but I did notice soon after arriving how different my brother was acting. He'd last come out to visit us in the South last August, and that trip was pretty jovial and relaxing. Now, my brother seemed angry. And bitter. And lashed out at everyone. He said some hurtful things to me, and about issues that are extremely important to me. One of his comments has been burned in my head, probably forever. My brother is a high school teacher, and basketball coach, and near the end of the school year, one of his players committed suicide. My brother was telling my husband that because he is a teacher, he had to be sympathetic and compassionate to the students and parents. He said he had to "say the right thing". But deep down, he didn't feel sympathy. He said he thought that student was selfish and was trying to become a martyr. He said the kid was trying to make sure that everyone focused on him and talked about him at graduation. He then said he thought that kid was a "piece of shit".
I was floored. Shocked. Rocked.
How could anyone say that? I walked away at this time, but I thought a lot about what he said. Such a lack of empathy, especially for someone I thought was exactly like me. I thought my brother put on a big show of being an asshole and pretending not to have feelings, but maybe it's not a show. Maybe he really doesn't care. Maybe he really doesn't have compassion, and empathy for others. His student drove his car off a cliff. When that didn't kill him, he kicked the windshield out of the car, climbed the cliff, and proceeded to find a tree and hang himself. That is pure desperation there. Pure and simple. Human brains have evolved over millions of years to have systems that protect us from suicide. One of the brain's main functions is to keep us alive. People have to be sick, very sick, in order to override those systems. I know what it's like to look out at the world from eyes that see nothing but pain, destruction, unhappiness, inequality, and despair. I know what it's like to feel like you can't stand a single second more. It's terrifying to have those thoughts. These thoughts almost feel physical at times, like an anchor tied to your ankle in the ocean. When you are at the bottom, it literally feels like you're drowning. How can my brother not see how desperate that poor kid was? That he was sick, and he saw no other alternative than to do what he did?
I feel like I don't know who my brother is anymore. It almost felt like I was punched in the stomach when I realized that my brother is fake.
He says the right things. He pretends to care. He smiles and pats the kids on the back, but who knows what he's thinking inside. He says the right things to me. Is this for real? I found myself, for most of the trip, second-guessing everything he said. Did he mean what he just said, or was that sarcasm? This, of course, let to lots of retrospection on my brother's failed marriage, which ended 1 year ago. My brother got engaged after dating this girl for about 9 months. They were married within 6 months of that. She left about 16 months into the marriage, and they are now divorced. My mom and my brother talk mad shit about this girl. They say horrible, awful things like she was manipulative, a liar, and a bitch. They appall me.
I don't agree with the way my former sister-in-law went about things, but I'll just say this, she is in no way the things that my family says about her. She was a good person, with a good heart. They just did not make a good match. For one, she was very religious and my whole family is squarely in the Agnostic/Athiest camp. This, for me, was the biggest red flag. The second biggest problem was that she doesn't smoke or approve of smoking, and my brother is a stoner. A huge stoner. I think these 2 factors alone are enough for anyone to say that this might not be a forever-match here.
My former sister-in-law said it was ok that my brother was Agnostic. I think that was a lie.
My former sister-in-law said it was ok that my brother smoked weed. Occasionally. I think that was a lie.
But let's be honest, this girl was 22 when they got married. At 22, I still told guys what they wanted to hear in order to have a relationship. You always think you can change someone if they love you enough. I thought this way. I think most young girls do. Does this make them a bad person? Fuck no. It makes them youthful, optimistic, and immature, but that's what the majority of people are at 22. It's a sign of youth, not of being manipulative. And in defense of my former sister-in-law, I'm pretty sure my brother put on his good-guy act until they got married. I guarantee that this girl started to see the real person behind my brother's persona, and she probably realized she didn't even know this person. Put that together with their major lifestyle differences and of course someone is going to pull the plug on this marriage.
I forgive my former sister-in-law. I understand that these 2 people were fundamentally different. Our time on Earth is so incredibly short, we can't waste a second being unhappy. In the long run, I think my brother will be better off. He'll find someone (hopefully) that's also agnostic, and perhaps a little bit of a liberal, pot-smoking hippy. And it will work so much better. So why harbor so much animosity?
If you want to get down to brass-tax, I think my brother is in the "Anger" phase of his grieving. It must have been that he was so busy during the school year that he didn't process any of his emotions, and he's just now having time to think about it. All I can say is, I hope this phase passes. I also hope comments he made were made out of anger, and not out of him revealing his true self.
I've got lots more talking about the trip to do, but unfortunately, I also have quite a long to-do list. Till next time!
Saturday, June 6, 2015
Mourning All That Will Never Be
I go back and forth with my mourning. Just when I think I've processed everything there is to process, more shit comes gurgling up. Thrown in my face. Tearing my heart into tiny little jagged pieces.
I mourn for that baby girl that I suspect was abused as an infant. About 2 years ago, I recovered a hazy memory of a baby in a baby bath, one toy navy boat, and my uncle. Due to the fact I was in a baby bath (you know, one of those little baths you place inside the actual bathtub), I've estimated my age at 6 months, maybe a year. Because I'm so young in this memory, I consistently and constantly question this memory. But when I'm feeling healthy, I try to tell myself to just accept it, not to question it to death. My point in all that is that I feel I never stood a chance. Corrupted from the beginning. What could I have been if this any of this had never happened?
I mourn for the girl who might have been happy.
I mourn for the girl that might never have suffered depression, anxiety, PTSD, insomnia, chronic headaches, and IBS.
I mourn for the girl who didn't respect her body, or even herself.
I mourn for the girl who may have been outgoing. I mourn for the girl who may have been popular, who may have made the cheerleading squad. I mourn for the girl who may have become homecoming queen.
I mourn for the girl that got bullied for being different. I mourn for the little girl who looked in the mirror, and only saw glasses, braces, chubby cheeks, and a mushroom haircut.
I mourn for the girl that may have been a doctor. That may have gone to law school.
I mourn for the girl that may have had children of her own.
I mourn for the unborn babies she will never have, and the experiences that won't darken her doorstep. She decided when she was 12 that she would never have children, and now she is 32. Childless. Stuck with a biological clock that never started ticking. Only the memory of the day the decision was made.
I can vividly recall that day when I was 12. I was terribly sad that day. This wasn't unusual. It was summer, and I was laying on my back in the grass in the backyard of my parents' house. The clouds weren't flying by especially fast that day, they were just big fluffy air masses lazily making their way across my field of vision. Like large, white cotton balls among the brilliant cerulean sky. I heard shrieks and happy screams of the neighbor kids riding their bikes up and down the street, throwing rocks at each other, playing games. Those happy shrieks felt like a knife to my heart, and in the moment I told myself I would never have kids. I would never subject another human being to the awfulness that was life. How could I willingly bring someone into the world when everything hurt so bad? I could not, I would not. And my mind has never changed.
I mourn that I will never have the experiences that all my former friends are having right now. Some of them have 3 to 4 kids! Pregnancy announcements and baby pictures fill my Facebook feed. Sometimes I smile, with tears in my eyes. Sometimes I just have to close the laptop, the pain is too great. I mourn that I will never experience "the greatest of all loves". I mourn that I will never see my husband's happy face when I tell him I'm pregnant. I mourn that I will never see that grin when his children take their first steps. Say their first word. I mourn that I am selfish and I worry about who will take care of me when I'm old.
I mourn for the girl who only felt hate and anger. I mourn for the people she hurt when she was younger, and didn't know any better.
I mourn for the girl who saw forgiveness as weak.
I mourn for the teenager who could never let go.
I mourn for the girl who spent half her teen years and all of her 20's numbing herself with alcohol, painkillers, and benzo's, with absolutely no inkling of "why?".
I mourn all of this. And then I try to let it go.
This is life, take it or leave it. I could sit here all day with the "what if's?" and the "who knows?". Everything that has come to pass, I cannot change. I can only try to accept it.
After all, it's made me who I am today.
I mourn for that baby girl that I suspect was abused as an infant. About 2 years ago, I recovered a hazy memory of a baby in a baby bath, one toy navy boat, and my uncle. Due to the fact I was in a baby bath (you know, one of those little baths you place inside the actual bathtub), I've estimated my age at 6 months, maybe a year. Because I'm so young in this memory, I consistently and constantly question this memory. But when I'm feeling healthy, I try to tell myself to just accept it, not to question it to death. My point in all that is that I feel I never stood a chance. Corrupted from the beginning. What could I have been if this any of this had never happened?
I mourn for the girl who might have been happy.
I mourn for the girl that might never have suffered depression, anxiety, PTSD, insomnia, chronic headaches, and IBS.
I mourn for the girl who didn't respect her body, or even herself.
I mourn for the girl who may have been outgoing. I mourn for the girl who may have been popular, who may have made the cheerleading squad. I mourn for the girl who may have become homecoming queen.
I mourn for the girl that got bullied for being different. I mourn for the little girl who looked in the mirror, and only saw glasses, braces, chubby cheeks, and a mushroom haircut.
I mourn for the girl that may have been a doctor. That may have gone to law school.
I mourn for the girl that may have had children of her own.
I mourn for the unborn babies she will never have, and the experiences that won't darken her doorstep. She decided when she was 12 that she would never have children, and now she is 32. Childless. Stuck with a biological clock that never started ticking. Only the memory of the day the decision was made.
I can vividly recall that day when I was 12. I was terribly sad that day. This wasn't unusual. It was summer, and I was laying on my back in the grass in the backyard of my parents' house. The clouds weren't flying by especially fast that day, they were just big fluffy air masses lazily making their way across my field of vision. Like large, white cotton balls among the brilliant cerulean sky. I heard shrieks and happy screams of the neighbor kids riding their bikes up and down the street, throwing rocks at each other, playing games. Those happy shrieks felt like a knife to my heart, and in the moment I told myself I would never have kids. I would never subject another human being to the awfulness that was life. How could I willingly bring someone into the world when everything hurt so bad? I could not, I would not. And my mind has never changed.
I mourn that I will never have the experiences that all my former friends are having right now. Some of them have 3 to 4 kids! Pregnancy announcements and baby pictures fill my Facebook feed. Sometimes I smile, with tears in my eyes. Sometimes I just have to close the laptop, the pain is too great. I mourn that I will never experience "the greatest of all loves". I mourn that I will never see my husband's happy face when I tell him I'm pregnant. I mourn that I will never see that grin when his children take their first steps. Say their first word. I mourn that I am selfish and I worry about who will take care of me when I'm old.
I mourn for the girl who only felt hate and anger. I mourn for the people she hurt when she was younger, and didn't know any better.
I mourn for the girl who saw forgiveness as weak.
I mourn for the teenager who could never let go.
I mourn for the girl who spent half her teen years and all of her 20's numbing herself with alcohol, painkillers, and benzo's, with absolutely no inkling of "why?".
I mourn all of this. And then I try to let it go.
This is life, take it or leave it. I could sit here all day with the "what if's?" and the "who knows?". Everything that has come to pass, I cannot change. I can only try to accept it.
After all, it's made me who I am today.
Monday, June 1, 2015
Dear Diary
Yesterday, I did something I haven't done in a while.
I went down into our basement, and into the boxes of my childhood stuff I've kept over the years. I went down there looking for a journal. It was a specific purple spiral notebook, one I'd filled with quotes from poems and songs, and a few fiction stories I wrote in high school. I was looking for some inspiration for writing. As soon as I opened the first box, I felt a slight twinge that said this might be a mistake. There were so many pictures from high school in that box. Pictures of a young, smiling, goofy teenager. One who was so good at hiding the pain. Too good. There were stuffed animals, candles, dance awards, and trophies. I lovingly, delicately ran my fingers over the spine of a white teddy bear. I picked up the bear, and there it was. My childhood diary. Thoughts and events from my life from the time I was in 6th grade till I was a sophomore in high school. Maybe I thought the purple journal would be in that big, black binder that was my diary, but nevertheless, I grabbed it and brought it upstairs.
I set the somewhat-crumbling binder down on the kitchen counter, and opened it. There was a clump of small pieces of paper tucked in the front cover. I smiled when I found $5 in McDonald's gift certificates, circa 1997, and a $10 Applebees gift certificate from my high school best friend. 'No expiration date' it claimed on the front. I imagined taking that certificate to the Applebees in my hometown during my next visit, just to see if they would take it. Nestled behind those certificates was a letter with my name on it. My dad's handwriting. It was an apology he had wrote me after "The Toilet Paper Incident". I was crying by the time I got to the end of letter and the words that moved me the most. At the end he had wrote,
"I'm going through a confusing time right now; something I don't understand, but am determined to resolve no matter what. I know it's tearing our family apart right now, but my hope is that it's temporary, and will lead to me becoming a better, more centered person. I have to do this because I don't see any other way right now. If I discover what's going on with me, I'll be home that day, that hour, that minute, but until then I have to keep searching."
That paragraph hit me hard. I didn't understand the letter when I received it, how could I? After all, I was only 17. It sure means a lot now, though. I completely understand what he went through, because that's what I'm going through. Complete and total personal upheaval. The only difference is I don't have a family that I'm responsible for. I honestly believe that that makes my journey 100% easier than whatever my dad went through. Another thing was made clear by this letter- "the toilet paper incident" occurred when my parents were separated, not when I was in middle school being chased home from the bus. Memory is a tricky thing, isn't it? I'm trying not to beat myself up over not remembering something perfectly, I spend way too much time doing that as it it. And that in itself can cause more pain. More on that another time, though.
I wiped away tears with the back of my hand, and settled in to read the actual diary. The first thing that struck me, that always strikes me on reading that diary, is how much pain is inferred through the passages. The main reoccurring theme throughout the first handful of pages is how unhappy I am. I hate school, my friends don't like me and talk about me behind my back, and I am angry. Lots of scrawling, hateful epithets written in all capital letters. Lots of anger with my mom, and with my brother. The second thing that knocked the wind out of me was a passage written on 12-16-95. It was regarding an incident that was one of the first traumatic memories to boil over in EMDR. My mom was taking me to my first concert that day, a Reba McEntire concert in Portland, OR. On our way, my mom and I saw a German Shepherd get hit by a car. In the entry, I described the scene exactly how it's been burned into my brain since that day. That memory used to cause so much distress, pain, and depression, and it struck me how much that has changed since EMDR. Recalling that memory yesterday was a good way to evaluate that that memory still feels less disturbing since the onset of EMDR. Even though it's been almost a year since we reprocessed that memory. Which is the purpose of EMDR, so that's very positive. Another important issue regarding this memory was that I never remembered the date. I never remembered it was around the holidays. December is, by far, my worst month. I spend the entire month in a funk, every year. I always thought it was just because of the holidays, the pressure, my birthday... Now I'm wondering if this traumatic memory is also involved a bit in my holiday madness?
Another thing became transparent to me upon reading the diary. I've quite clearly had dysfunctional relationships with the opposite sex since the beginning. It was interesting to read about the onset of my first relationship and all the flawed thinking I've always displayed. I saw how elated I was when the relationship became physical, when I was 13. I saw how unstable in the relationship I was- always complaining about how he was obsessed with me and way too nice, so I ended the relationship. At which time, I became panicked and all I could write about was getting him back. And I did get him back. And the relationship became more physical. I noted that I didn't include in my diary that I lost my viriginity to him. I remember my mindset at that age. It was always in the back of my mind that my mom could find my diary, so I never included that. Reading through the entries though, I knew where it had happened.
The on-again/off-again relationship came to its inevitable end. And I wrote about the loss for no less than 1 year, truly fixated and unable to move on. I was in eighth grade. What 13-year old mourns the loss of a boyfriend for a year? I wrote that I felt like I'd lost a best friend, that I missed the closeness, that I felt lost. Empty. Alone.
And then, one year later, I met someone else. And the exact same process started over. Except this time, there were a few more detailed entries to go off of. This time, the boy I was dating went to a different school so I only saw him on the weekends. It was obvious, from reading the entires, that I was ok with the relationship when we were together (fooling around, being touched, etc.) but during our time apart, I got squirrely. I would start to doubt the relationship and how much he cared for me. I would think about breaking up with him, but then if we did break up, he would be all I would think about. And yes, this relationship became on-again/off-again too.
It was obvious. Written in front of me, in black and white. Only, I'd never seen it before. In my young brain, things were only balanced in these "relationships" when they were physical. Sex= Love. That's where I felt right. That's where I felt safe. And let's face it- when you are 13, you don't get a whole lot of time to do these things. So, I spent most of my relationships feeling depressed. Like things were wrong. Like I wasn't good enough.
And how does a young girl come right out of the gate, and behave this way?
The answer is plain and straight-forward- programming. I was taught to think this way, yet I had no inkling of what had happened to me as a child. Not one thought, not one time. Ever. I never thought, "Maybe I'm this way because something happened to me?". I remember how I felt at the time-
Born broken. I would be forever broken. Possibly just bad genetics. Possibly I was just a terrible person.
These revelations have put a lot into perspective. I realize now why my college relationship was so difficult, and why so many other relationships were. I (subconsciously) became paranoid over my relationships if they weren't physical. And during college, I was on Depo-Provera and had zero sex-drive. With the lack of physical closeness, I became even nuttier. More paranoid. Needy. And no successful relationship exists in harmony with that much negative emotion. I was more unlike myself than I've ever been during that relationship.
It's clear to me now why I feel my marriage is in trouble if we haven't had sex in a couple of days.
And while these things are evident to me, now I'm left wondering,
"How do I change this?" How do I break the association of love and sex? As A has mentioned many times, we are only getting older. Both of our sex drives will naturally decrease, and am I going to be thinking he doesn't love me for larger and larger amount of times?
I don't want this to be the case.
I went down into our basement, and into the boxes of my childhood stuff I've kept over the years. I went down there looking for a journal. It was a specific purple spiral notebook, one I'd filled with quotes from poems and songs, and a few fiction stories I wrote in high school. I was looking for some inspiration for writing. As soon as I opened the first box, I felt a slight twinge that said this might be a mistake. There were so many pictures from high school in that box. Pictures of a young, smiling, goofy teenager. One who was so good at hiding the pain. Too good. There were stuffed animals, candles, dance awards, and trophies. I lovingly, delicately ran my fingers over the spine of a white teddy bear. I picked up the bear, and there it was. My childhood diary. Thoughts and events from my life from the time I was in 6th grade till I was a sophomore in high school. Maybe I thought the purple journal would be in that big, black binder that was my diary, but nevertheless, I grabbed it and brought it upstairs.
I set the somewhat-crumbling binder down on the kitchen counter, and opened it. There was a clump of small pieces of paper tucked in the front cover. I smiled when I found $5 in McDonald's gift certificates, circa 1997, and a $10 Applebees gift certificate from my high school best friend. 'No expiration date' it claimed on the front. I imagined taking that certificate to the Applebees in my hometown during my next visit, just to see if they would take it. Nestled behind those certificates was a letter with my name on it. My dad's handwriting. It was an apology he had wrote me after "The Toilet Paper Incident". I was crying by the time I got to the end of letter and the words that moved me the most. At the end he had wrote,
"I'm going through a confusing time right now; something I don't understand, but am determined to resolve no matter what. I know it's tearing our family apart right now, but my hope is that it's temporary, and will lead to me becoming a better, more centered person. I have to do this because I don't see any other way right now. If I discover what's going on with me, I'll be home that day, that hour, that minute, but until then I have to keep searching."
That paragraph hit me hard. I didn't understand the letter when I received it, how could I? After all, I was only 17. It sure means a lot now, though. I completely understand what he went through, because that's what I'm going through. Complete and total personal upheaval. The only difference is I don't have a family that I'm responsible for. I honestly believe that that makes my journey 100% easier than whatever my dad went through. Another thing was made clear by this letter- "the toilet paper incident" occurred when my parents were separated, not when I was in middle school being chased home from the bus. Memory is a tricky thing, isn't it? I'm trying not to beat myself up over not remembering something perfectly, I spend way too much time doing that as it it. And that in itself can cause more pain. More on that another time, though.
I wiped away tears with the back of my hand, and settled in to read the actual diary. The first thing that struck me, that always strikes me on reading that diary, is how much pain is inferred through the passages. The main reoccurring theme throughout the first handful of pages is how unhappy I am. I hate school, my friends don't like me and talk about me behind my back, and I am angry. Lots of scrawling, hateful epithets written in all capital letters. Lots of anger with my mom, and with my brother. The second thing that knocked the wind out of me was a passage written on 12-16-95. It was regarding an incident that was one of the first traumatic memories to boil over in EMDR. My mom was taking me to my first concert that day, a Reba McEntire concert in Portland, OR. On our way, my mom and I saw a German Shepherd get hit by a car. In the entry, I described the scene exactly how it's been burned into my brain since that day. That memory used to cause so much distress, pain, and depression, and it struck me how much that has changed since EMDR. Recalling that memory yesterday was a good way to evaluate that that memory still feels less disturbing since the onset of EMDR. Even though it's been almost a year since we reprocessed that memory. Which is the purpose of EMDR, so that's very positive. Another important issue regarding this memory was that I never remembered the date. I never remembered it was around the holidays. December is, by far, my worst month. I spend the entire month in a funk, every year. I always thought it was just because of the holidays, the pressure, my birthday... Now I'm wondering if this traumatic memory is also involved a bit in my holiday madness?
Another thing became transparent to me upon reading the diary. I've quite clearly had dysfunctional relationships with the opposite sex since the beginning. It was interesting to read about the onset of my first relationship and all the flawed thinking I've always displayed. I saw how elated I was when the relationship became physical, when I was 13. I saw how unstable in the relationship I was- always complaining about how he was obsessed with me and way too nice, so I ended the relationship. At which time, I became panicked and all I could write about was getting him back. And I did get him back. And the relationship became more physical. I noted that I didn't include in my diary that I lost my viriginity to him. I remember my mindset at that age. It was always in the back of my mind that my mom could find my diary, so I never included that. Reading through the entries though, I knew where it had happened.
The on-again/off-again relationship came to its inevitable end. And I wrote about the loss for no less than 1 year, truly fixated and unable to move on. I was in eighth grade. What 13-year old mourns the loss of a boyfriend for a year? I wrote that I felt like I'd lost a best friend, that I missed the closeness, that I felt lost. Empty. Alone.
And then, one year later, I met someone else. And the exact same process started over. Except this time, there were a few more detailed entries to go off of. This time, the boy I was dating went to a different school so I only saw him on the weekends. It was obvious, from reading the entires, that I was ok with the relationship when we were together (fooling around, being touched, etc.) but during our time apart, I got squirrely. I would start to doubt the relationship and how much he cared for me. I would think about breaking up with him, but then if we did break up, he would be all I would think about. And yes, this relationship became on-again/off-again too.
It was obvious. Written in front of me, in black and white. Only, I'd never seen it before. In my young brain, things were only balanced in these "relationships" when they were physical. Sex= Love. That's where I felt right. That's where I felt safe. And let's face it- when you are 13, you don't get a whole lot of time to do these things. So, I spent most of my relationships feeling depressed. Like things were wrong. Like I wasn't good enough.
And how does a young girl come right out of the gate, and behave this way?
The answer is plain and straight-forward- programming. I was taught to think this way, yet I had no inkling of what had happened to me as a child. Not one thought, not one time. Ever. I never thought, "Maybe I'm this way because something happened to me?". I remember how I felt at the time-
Born broken. I would be forever broken. Possibly just bad genetics. Possibly I was just a terrible person.
These revelations have put a lot into perspective. I realize now why my college relationship was so difficult, and why so many other relationships were. I (subconsciously) became paranoid over my relationships if they weren't physical. And during college, I was on Depo-Provera and had zero sex-drive. With the lack of physical closeness, I became even nuttier. More paranoid. Needy. And no successful relationship exists in harmony with that much negative emotion. I was more unlike myself than I've ever been during that relationship.
It's clear to me now why I feel my marriage is in trouble if we haven't had sex in a couple of days.
And while these things are evident to me, now I'm left wondering,
"How do I change this?" How do I break the association of love and sex? As A has mentioned many times, we are only getting older. Both of our sex drives will naturally decrease, and am I going to be thinking he doesn't love me for larger and larger amount of times?
I don't want this to be the case.
Thursday, May 21, 2015
How Did I Become My Mom?
I have been writing and rewriting this post in my head. It's something I ponder quite a bit. I was just looking out the window, as the single-cup coffee brewer roared beside me, admiring the turtledoves that were roaming my garden. It warms my heart to see birds in the garden. I'm trying companion gardening this year, which means I've planted many different varieties of plants to encourage beneficial insects and birds to the garden. Besides the variety, I've added a bird bath. Hopefully to entice butterflies as much as birds to quench their thirst, and maybe stick around for lunch on a cucumber beetle. I catch myself thinking these things, and it makes me smile. If you'd know me growing up, you would find it so out of character that I concern myself with anything that involves being outdoors. And that's a tale that begins with my mom.
My mom and I have always had a complicated relationship. She had always pushed me to be more outgoing, and just generally out of my comfort zone. I begrudged her relentless couponing. Her frugalness embarrassed me in front of my friends. She was always trying to get me to help her outside, in the garden or with the lawn. I hated being outside. I hated getting dirty, and even worse, I had a monstrous fear of bees. A scream-and-run-for-your-life kind of fear. We fought. Constantly. I resented her so much, and the resentment didn't stop until I was 16. When I was 16, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. On top of the cancer diagnosis, my parents were going through a trial separation. It was a difficult time for both me and my brother. Because my father was temporarily out of the picture, I took his place in driving Mom to her chemo and radiation appointments. I also took his place as her confidante. I remember coming home from school so many days to my weepy mom, who would then place her head in my lap and sob. She confided in me things that no mom should have to confide to a child. My heart broke, every time. Silently, I made a vow to always protect my mom.
I can't remember the last time my mom and I had a fight. I can't remember the last time my little brother and my mom had a fight. The world changed when cancer hit.
My mother and father eventually reconciled. Mom and I retained our closeness for about 5 minutes. We didn't go back to a typical mother-daughter relationship, we are more like close acquaintances. I say acquaintances because we no longer share anything real. After what she's gone through in her life, my mom shut down emotionally. She copes with life by watching sports 24/7 and a glass of red wine at night. She'll talk to you all night about football but if I were to ask her to share any memories she has of her mom or childhood, the conversation would be over. Last September, my parents made their annual trip east to visit my husband and I. There was one really palpable moment where my mom and I were sitting on the back patio, and somehow the conversation started to turn genuine and emotional. I think we were talking about my therapy. I was in mid-sentence when I actively saw her eyes glaze over, and then she abruptly changed the subject. To sports.
I was so hurt in that moment. It's taken me a long time to accept that her behavior is not about me. It's about her. I have come to accept that that's just how my mom is. That moment took me back to one from childhood, and it's crazy how that's immediately where my mind went. It was a moment back when I was 13, or 14. I can't remember what we were doing, but my mom had taken me and my brother somewhere. Out of town, maybe for shopping? I do remember stopping at Arctic Circle (anyone remember those??). My mom was sitting next to me, and my brother across from us. My mom turned to me and asked how I got my eye lashes so curly. I was super-excited she asked, because at that age I was obsessed with makeup. I loved to talk about it. I excitedly began chattering away, and again, when I was in mid-sentence, my mom's eyes glazed over. She then turned to my brother and asked him about his cheeseburger. I was crushed. I can still remember, to this day, how stinging that was to me. Tears pricked my eyes, and I felt embarrassed for having shown my passion. Even today, I'm extremely sensitive to when a group of people I'm talking to doesn't care to be listening any longer. You don't have to stop me mid-breath, I know when to stop talking.
The way my mom is, is the exact opposite of how I want to be. My mom pushes her emotions down and in my opinion, doesn't process them. I tried for 32 years to not process my emotions, and I'm paying for it now. Immensely. Feeling a life time's worth of emotions all at once. It can be overwhelming, but I've come to realize, it's necessary. Yes, there is tons of pain that can bring on depressions. Yes, there are some days I do not want to get out of bed. Days I can't even brush my hair. Days where I'm crying from the moment I wake up to the moment I go to sleep. That's life though. These moments and feelings pass. You just have to wait for the feeling to crest, and then it will subside. Depression and anxiety are temporary. They always pass. It's the process of feeling that anxiety build, and looking for an inappropriate outlet that is unhealthy. My typical inappropriate outlets include vodka. Xanax. Vicodin. And more vodka. My mom's is football and ESPN 24 hours a day. Neither one is healthy, because neither deals with the problem at hand.
I'm either so much like her, or I've just learned to emulate her. Because yes, my first instinct with anxiety is to push it away. It's a problem I still struggle with today, a problem I will probably always struggle with. But I'm trying to be different. I'm trying to deal with my emotions in a healthy manner.
But you know what? I'm not just like her in the "bad" ways either. As an adult, I began couponing when A was laid off to save money. I got really into it. I ended up building a stockpile that A and I have been living off for 2 years. Man, did I catch grief on that one. Mowing the lawn became my chore, because I love being outside so much. Being outside in nature provides me with so much relief from all my feelings. It makes me feel one with the wind and sky. It helps me diffuse from emotions, and realize that most of my problems are problems created by society. People problems, I like to call them. I feel so at peace with a yoga playlist blaring in my ears, marching that lawn mower up and down the yard in rows. I love getting dirty. Screw garden gloves, you'll find me planting and pulling weeds with bare hands. I've actually read that getting your hands and feet in the dirt helps stave off depression. Bring it on, I say. While I'm still afraid of bees, EMDR helps every day with that (that's another topic entirely, one I will get to at some point). The more I age, the more it appears I picked up quite a few of her best qualities. Especially the ones I never expected to get.
Every once in awhile, A will suggest watching a movie or documentary and I will hem and haw, grumble, and drag my feet. It's times like those where he bursts out laughing and tells me I'm so much like my mom. 'Shall we just turn on sports?' he teases me. We have a good laugh, and then I change my mindset to watch the movie.
I may have inherited some of her less desirable traits, but I definitely got some of her finest. And some, all my own.
My mom and I have always had a complicated relationship. She had always pushed me to be more outgoing, and just generally out of my comfort zone. I begrudged her relentless couponing. Her frugalness embarrassed me in front of my friends. She was always trying to get me to help her outside, in the garden or with the lawn. I hated being outside. I hated getting dirty, and even worse, I had a monstrous fear of bees. A scream-and-run-for-your-life kind of fear. We fought. Constantly. I resented her so much, and the resentment didn't stop until I was 16. When I was 16, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. On top of the cancer diagnosis, my parents were going through a trial separation. It was a difficult time for both me and my brother. Because my father was temporarily out of the picture, I took his place in driving Mom to her chemo and radiation appointments. I also took his place as her confidante. I remember coming home from school so many days to my weepy mom, who would then place her head in my lap and sob. She confided in me things that no mom should have to confide to a child. My heart broke, every time. Silently, I made a vow to always protect my mom.
I can't remember the last time my mom and I had a fight. I can't remember the last time my little brother and my mom had a fight. The world changed when cancer hit.
My mother and father eventually reconciled. Mom and I retained our closeness for about 5 minutes. We didn't go back to a typical mother-daughter relationship, we are more like close acquaintances. I say acquaintances because we no longer share anything real. After what she's gone through in her life, my mom shut down emotionally. She copes with life by watching sports 24/7 and a glass of red wine at night. She'll talk to you all night about football but if I were to ask her to share any memories she has of her mom or childhood, the conversation would be over. Last September, my parents made their annual trip east to visit my husband and I. There was one really palpable moment where my mom and I were sitting on the back patio, and somehow the conversation started to turn genuine and emotional. I think we were talking about my therapy. I was in mid-sentence when I actively saw her eyes glaze over, and then she abruptly changed the subject. To sports.
I was so hurt in that moment. It's taken me a long time to accept that her behavior is not about me. It's about her. I have come to accept that that's just how my mom is. That moment took me back to one from childhood, and it's crazy how that's immediately where my mind went. It was a moment back when I was 13, or 14. I can't remember what we were doing, but my mom had taken me and my brother somewhere. Out of town, maybe for shopping? I do remember stopping at Arctic Circle (anyone remember those??). My mom was sitting next to me, and my brother across from us. My mom turned to me and asked how I got my eye lashes so curly. I was super-excited she asked, because at that age I was obsessed with makeup. I loved to talk about it. I excitedly began chattering away, and again, when I was in mid-sentence, my mom's eyes glazed over. She then turned to my brother and asked him about his cheeseburger. I was crushed. I can still remember, to this day, how stinging that was to me. Tears pricked my eyes, and I felt embarrassed for having shown my passion. Even today, I'm extremely sensitive to when a group of people I'm talking to doesn't care to be listening any longer. You don't have to stop me mid-breath, I know when to stop talking.
The way my mom is, is the exact opposite of how I want to be. My mom pushes her emotions down and in my opinion, doesn't process them. I tried for 32 years to not process my emotions, and I'm paying for it now. Immensely. Feeling a life time's worth of emotions all at once. It can be overwhelming, but I've come to realize, it's necessary. Yes, there is tons of pain that can bring on depressions. Yes, there are some days I do not want to get out of bed. Days I can't even brush my hair. Days where I'm crying from the moment I wake up to the moment I go to sleep. That's life though. These moments and feelings pass. You just have to wait for the feeling to crest, and then it will subside. Depression and anxiety are temporary. They always pass. It's the process of feeling that anxiety build, and looking for an inappropriate outlet that is unhealthy. My typical inappropriate outlets include vodka. Xanax. Vicodin. And more vodka. My mom's is football and ESPN 24 hours a day. Neither one is healthy, because neither deals with the problem at hand.
I'm either so much like her, or I've just learned to emulate her. Because yes, my first instinct with anxiety is to push it away. It's a problem I still struggle with today, a problem I will probably always struggle with. But I'm trying to be different. I'm trying to deal with my emotions in a healthy manner.
But you know what? I'm not just like her in the "bad" ways either. As an adult, I began couponing when A was laid off to save money. I got really into it. I ended up building a stockpile that A and I have been living off for 2 years. Man, did I catch grief on that one. Mowing the lawn became my chore, because I love being outside so much. Being outside in nature provides me with so much relief from all my feelings. It makes me feel one with the wind and sky. It helps me diffuse from emotions, and realize that most of my problems are problems created by society. People problems, I like to call them. I feel so at peace with a yoga playlist blaring in my ears, marching that lawn mower up and down the yard in rows. I love getting dirty. Screw garden gloves, you'll find me planting and pulling weeds with bare hands. I've actually read that getting your hands and feet in the dirt helps stave off depression. Bring it on, I say. While I'm still afraid of bees, EMDR helps every day with that (that's another topic entirely, one I will get to at some point). The more I age, the more it appears I picked up quite a few of her best qualities. Especially the ones I never expected to get.
Every once in awhile, A will suggest watching a movie or documentary and I will hem and haw, grumble, and drag my feet. It's times like those where he bursts out laughing and tells me I'm so much like my mom. 'Shall we just turn on sports?' he teases me. We have a good laugh, and then I change my mindset to watch the movie.
I may have inherited some of her less desirable traits, but I definitely got some of her finest. And some, all my own.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)