Love

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 :)

And It Continues in the Grand Tradition

Last night when I got home, I picked through my mail. One of the packages was a largeish priority mail, and I thought it was my shipment of tea, so I ripped into it. When I peeked inside, there was a package wrapped in gift wrap. Without taking the package out of the mailer, I flipped the mailer over and looked at the handwriting on the back. Fuck. That's mom's handwriting. Then I think, well, maybe she's sending an early Christmas present for my little one. So I pull the package out and find a "To Bessie, with Love, Mom" sticker on the side.

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.

Well-Written

Where were you when I was burned and broken
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

F'n Grrrr

No response to my most recent letter to mother, but yesterday a birthday card...pink envelope with flower stickers all over it. Curiosity killed the cat. I opened it. The card was the usual flowery stuff, and on the inside she wrote, "No matter what you may think of me, please know I love you very much."

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?

Striking a Balance - Not Always a Nice Thing

Over the past six months, I've been training in basic shamanism. (Could be the opening line of a joke, but it's not.) I put out an honest wish to figure out who I am, and this opportunity came along, and it's been very enlightening and not all that easy.

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.

The Gasket is Leaking

I took the vicious thoughts out of my head and I put them on paper. I sent them to her. Now I can't pretend it's all alright, which is a relief of sorts. She gets to read my ugly (albeit true) thoughts. No reneging for me, no undoing. I know this won't really change anything, except give her more ammo, but I did this for me to lance the poisonous boil in my chest that wells hot and horrible over any mention of her. Now she gets to see how truly ungrateful I really am for all the things she believes she did well.

Mixed Emotions (What Did I Expect?)

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.