I want to let the N-survivors know that you are part of my family of choice - honest communication, no strings to strangle on. Although I don't identify with mainstream religion, I find myself getting a bit maudlin around the edges this holiday season. If you were at the N-free holiday party in my mind, you would probably get pics of me that would vary from mildly embarrassing to career-changing, and I'd be good with that. Here's to another year of moving forward. Love ya :)
Thursday, December 5, 2013
I'm not opening that shit for anything. It's going back to her unopened and with a note telling her that I don't want gifts, I want to be left alone. The more distance I get from her, the more keenly I feel the manipulation when it occurs. I haven't talked to her for months, since before the letter communications, and I haven't communicated anything to her between my post where she sent me the flowery/snide birthday card. Now she's sending me a gift-wrapped present by mail? So, I'm like a 4-year-old who she can lure back to her fold with some gift? Also, the passive-aggressiveness that goes along with this burns my ass. I haven't talked Christmas at all with her or my DS, so this lets me know she believes she won't see me at Christmas. If you're not going to see me at Christmas (which I know, and obviously she knows), send my kids something, asshole. Don't give me shit. I'm insulted, and I see how much she doesn't fucking know me at all.
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
While the days slipped by from my window watching
Where were you when I was hurt and helpless
Because the things you say and the things you do surround me
While you were hanging yourself on someone else's words
Dying to believe in what you heard
I was staring straight into the shining sun
Lost in thought and lost in time
While the seeds of lifeand the seeds of change were planted
Outside the rain fell dark and slow
While I pondered on this dangerous but irresistible pastime
I took a heavenly ride through our silence
I knew the moment had arrived
For killing the past and coming back to life
I took a heavenly ride through our silence
I knew the waiting had begun
And headed straight..into the shining sun
-David Gilmour of Pink Floyd
Friday, November 8, 2013
Why does this infuriate me so much?
I feel like this negates my emotions once again. She loves me even though I'm wrong? Gah. Your takes?
Monday, October 28, 2013
Part of the shamanic tradition (specifically Q'ero) makes you look at the parts of yourself that are not so pretty. You get to know the darkness in yourself and the things about you that you'd rather disown. The tradition also teaches to walk in light and love and to heal the world around you by healing yourself. I really struggle with the light and love approach; trying to see the light in everyone isn't easy, and I spent lots of time at the beginning clutching my "resistance" stone and blowing all my resistance to learning into it. I still couldn't see how to let go of my anger. Then, last week when I sat down and wrote mother the letter, it occurred to me that if I had to look at all the things I didn't like about myself and accept them, I couldn't still carry around my mother's burden because IT WASN'T MINE. In order to get to the love and light, I have to drop that burden like the useless shit it is, because it is diseasing me.
The only way I feel I can drop that burden is to directly hand it back to her. Serve it up on a cold plate with a side of brutal. I want to make her hate me for making her see herself through my eyes. I know this isn't nice, and it may not what the shamanic tradition has in mind, but I can't heal myself without unburdening my way. There is a balance to handing responsibility back to her that is bringing me to a place I've never been before. The potential for triumph and regret is mine, all mine. Euphoric or devastating, I'm taking back my power.
Friday, October 25, 2013
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
Received a reply in the mail today from Mother. Some of it seemed rather sincere, like "I'm not angry, I'm hurt. Sometimes the truth hurts." peppered with "How did my friends hurt you" and "Of course I've told stuff about you to family. Like it or not they're family, too." Oh, and and adamant denial about her fuck-buddy... "No Way!" I'm confused. She admits what I say is the truth and then either denies it or justifies it. This is worse for me to process than either being lit up or cut out. I'm being manipulated, and I'm still confused. She ended the letter by asking me to come to her sister's surprise party again and promising not to pick a fight with me. I suppose this would be for her to pretend that I've "forgiven" her.
Thursday, October 3, 2013
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
I'm not sorry.
Friday, May 10, 2013
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
I got laid off from my job during the time my parents were separating for the final time. I didn't make much money, but it was the first full-time job I'd ever had, and I was doing something I liked to do, although the job was a den of hate and mismanagement. I took advantage of a misplaced worker's program our state offered, and three months later I started college full-time.
During this first semester, I felt so much better about school than I ever had as a teenager. I was learning shit. I landed a job as a part-timer at a law office and felt like I was heading in the right direction. I never had to share any of my personal problems with the people at the place I worked at. I didn't know them and they didn't know me and I discovered I was great with starting with a blank slate.
Several months later, Mom and Dad's divorce became final within the same month my sister's apartment house burned down, Dad had a significant truck accident, and Mom had her major stroke that led to open heart surgery. This was the last week of my first semester of college.
During the time Mom was in the hospital, which was most of that summer, I only went to visit her a few times. I know this earned the ire of certain family members who couldn't possibly understand the family dynamic. I was working two part-time jobs and going to college full-time and trying to figure out what was going on with my little boy.
Mother was released from the hospital and slowly recovered, and Dad continued to try to manipulate my favor as the best parent of the two. They both phone-bombed me, usually within a couple of minutes of each other. It was fucking eerie. I hated talking to them but felt guilty about not answering, so I always gave into my guilt.
Time goes on, and I graduate from college a couple of years down the road - a modest AAS degree, but a milestone nonetheless. During this time, the father of my oldest son was recovering from his meth addiction in a controlled living situation and I kept bending over backward to get him to come see his son on his weekend furloughs, which seldom happened. He completed the drug program and got clean, then knocked up his 19 year old girlfriend. Then he moved a couple of states away, presumably to get away from the same drug culture and friends who helped him get into the drug culture before, and he was an ass to his girlfriend who moved back to the state with their kid. God, I was pissed. This was the 3rd child he had created (one before me, one after me) with a girlfriend that he fucked off after making a kid, and then irresponsibly put his needs before any of his kids.
Then he died. He was in a motorcycle accident that rendered him brain-dead, and, thankfully, his family decided to donate his usable organs. That was, bar none, the most noble thing that had come from his life. But he died happy, doing what he wanted to do. I had to tell my 15 year old his dad was dead and watch the ex's family put him on a pedestal. I had done my best over the years to stay in close contact with his family so my boy would know them. After he passed, I couldn't go visit without seeing altars to the ex and conversations about what a wonderful man he was, a HERO. I get it. They loved him. They didn't see the consequences of his actions on his kids. Still makes me want to bring him back to life and fucking smack him. And hug him. I didn't hate him, except for when he hurt my son's feelings. I just didn't understand him much at all.
At the time he died, I was married to my husband and had my little boy. My husband never really bonded with my oldest son because he never understood him, either. He loved him but couldn't relate to him on any level. It's been a long few years. I helped my dad through his final stage of living as much as he would allow it while trying to keep my protective boundaries in place. My mother had it in her head that she had to come see him and bug him, I think to make herself feel better about having affairs while married to him. She became a martyr to her cause, refusing to remember the hell he put us all through.
When I told her not to go see him, she did anyway, behind my back, and then pretended she was his current wife when she snuck into the nursing home and held his hand, then requested to talk to the nurse. They caught on and called me. I wanted to KILL her. She apologized that I was upset. So, non-apology. Dad was pretty close to gone then and I think he thought she was me since he told a nurse his daughter had just been to visit him. He still HATED her and talked shit about her to me every chance he got. But then he talked shit about me to to anyone who would listen, so whatever. All I can think is she wanted what she wanted, consequences be damned, like this was some fucking Lifetime movie where everyone kisses and makes up and she feels better about being a whore instead of being a strong woman. If he had freaked out on her, she would have come bawling to me and he would have come bitching to me, and who would have had to clean up their goddamned mess? Yeah.
As it was, she went bawling to my father's sister, the only family member I am fond of, because I yelled at her. I knew she would do it, too. I found out about that some months later while talking to this aunt. I'm sure mother thought this would get her some sympathy and have dad's family down on me for yelling at her poor, fragile self. Fucking bitch. Like this time wasn't difficult enough. She got her divorce, she got the fuck away from him, and I was left doing all the dirty work (that she wouldn't have been strong enough to handle anyway, so it was coming to this). Her getting away is not what I begrudge her. I was the one he hated for three years for having to put him in assisted living and take him to doctor's appointments and take his truck away from him. She wanted to be his warm-fuzzy there at the end after not being there for the worst of it, after all the shit both of them had put us through over the years.
Yep. Don't want to see her any more. Will I? Yes, if only to keep my relationship with my sister, whose husband thinks we are "ridiculous" and should just "let it go" as regards our feelings with Mom. I know he doesn't understand. But we weren't all brought up in loving, enlightened families, now were we?
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
It's true she was friends with the hubby before I ever knew her. But they haven't been close friends longer than I haven't been close to her.
There are no trust issues for me regarding my husband, so I told him she was asking for his number and asked him if he wanted me to give it to her. He made a snorty noise and sighed, then said he could imagine what she wants.
See, a good pal of hubby's recently (like in the last couple of weeks) just broke up with his girlfriend of more than five years. Part of why I am not close to this friend anymore is that she had expressed a desire to interfere with hubby's friend's relationship, and I liked and respected his girlfriend at that point more than I liked and respected my former friend. Hubby figures this woman heard about the breaking-up and wants to step in and "comfort" his friend.
Niiice. And I can't imagine texting a friend, close or former, and just asking for her husband's phone number. This kind of hot mess used to be my best pal. But, I hadn't got the memo on narcissism then, either.
Sunday, February 17, 2013
I didn't answer her call since it was in the middle of the workday and my phone was in a drawer and I didn't hear it. When work was over, I checked the phone to see a text from my sis who asked if NM had called me. Frankly, until I double-checked all my little phone icons, I didn't know she had. So I sucked it up and listened to her message, the first time in about 9 months I have. She told me her brother had passed away and rambled a little about other things that were unclear, then she threw in that she was letting me know in case I was "interested." Also, she left some sort of snark about gee whiz, sorry I didn't get you guys valentines, I haven't been out of the house in a while. The message was left the day before valentine's day, and frankly, I'm a little beyond waiting for valentines in the mail.
Her brother is someone I've seen fewer than 10 times in my life. I didn't hate him, but I didn't love him, because I didn't know him. He and his wife got the hell out of Dodge to get away from his evil mother. This is the only thing I know about him, and I do like that he did that.
After I listened to NM's message, I immediately dialed her number, but she didn't answer. She was probably with other family members, and I left a very brief message that I was truly sorry about her brother and I hoped she was doing okay. I said I'd call her back, but I didn't. I popped a note in the mail instead.
The note didn't hit any of the heavy shit that's been sitting on my chest. I know she's suffering, and grinding my heel in her wounds isn't something I wanted to do. The letter was brief and honest and expressed how sorry I was for her loss and for my uncle's wife's loss. I also wrote that I was writing because it was the healthiest way for me to communicate right now, but I left it at that.
So she tries to call me today. Even though I told her I only felt comfortable communicating in writing right now. I knew her ring the minute the home phone started bleating. It's no surprise that she only wants what she wants and that she blasted past a boundary I tried to be honest about. Kinda drove it home, though, that everything I've known to be true is right.
I know from messages from my sister the family is not doing a memorial service right now. I know NM wanted me to drive several hours and bring my kids so she could show them off like zoo animals in front of her siblings, none of whom I know very well. I don't think any of them could give a fig less if I showed up or not. But I know if I'd talked to her, she would've whined and needled and made it apparent that I was taking a chunk out of her soul by not doing what she wants me to do. I know by not coming up today, there will probably be a big show sometime this afternoon wherein she breaks into tears and makes it all about her that I am not there to support her in her time of need.
I really hate her right now. I feel downright nauseous and dirty, and I didn't even talk to her. Mindfuck, indeed.
It's been a long couple of months since I posted last. I'm a real delayed reaction sort of person, and I'm trying to adjust to my big kid's new living situation and stupid hormonal shit that makes me want to rip my ovaries out and stomp on them. Hot flashes, night sweats, pms that lasts two weeks, nightmares that peel wallpaper off the walls, the whole nine yards. Perimenopause can kiss my ever-broadening ass. I must have been a man in most of my past lives, because my tolerance for this nonsense is veddy, veddy low.