Day 5 and I’m OK

relief.

This picture came out H U G E, but nobody reads this blog, and it’s really just for me, and these flowers were gorgeous, so whatever.

So, it’s been 5 days since I offiially removed myself from the whirling cesspool that is my parent’s and sister’s lives. 

From nearly the moment that I officially made the decision, my Matthew has had the flu.  The REAL flu, ie: influenza.  He’s been so sick, and, he has been attached to me like velcro.  I love it.  ( I hate that he’s sick, but I love it when I can be his mama).  It truly is like some type of gift. 

When I was sick with my bleeding ulcer, Matthew wouldn’t leave my side.  He insisted that he stay in bed with me, and reused to do anything but be right next to me.  Unusual, and unheard of by him (autistic), until that time. I know my GG is with me.  I know it.

So, for this week, although, I must admit that it’s been exhausting to have a 75lb kid laying on me, yes ON me for nearly a week, it’s been wonderful being his hero mom.  I’ve loved up on this little needy boy more in the past 5 days than my OWN mom has in 42 years.  And that’s the truth.

I’ve not heard a word from them, aside from “Where will we send the kids’ birthday cards?”  (huh?)

So, I know that I did the right thing.

I’m fine.

It occured to me, however, that there are only about 3 or 4 pictures of me from my very early childhood.  My 24 hour picture, and a couple others, but that’s it.  My life, in picture form, began at about 16, when my friends took pictures of me.  Aside from school pictures, there isn’t much of an accounting of my childhood.  weird.

But that’s just stuff.  So, who really gives a fuck?  None of us.

he would be cool, of course.

It’s been awhile since I’ve blogged.  I was kind of stuck in a wierd funk.  It seems like, for about a week, maybe 2, the decision was SET, I would separate myself from my parents forever.

And, it kind of sat there, in the air.  While my anxiety grew and grew, and I got crabby, unmotivated, depressed.  I talked to “E” about it, and we decided that it just needs to be done.  I have to tell my parents.  I told her, “I’ll do that.  Next week some time”, and she said, “why not TOMORROW?  why do you want to continue to feel so bad?” 

She’s a smart lady.  And she was right.

 

So, I wrote out the words that I would say.  I will call them, at their condo on the beach in South Carolina.  I’ll say what I have to say, and hang up.

 

These are the words that I spoke: “I haven’t felt that you have loved me for a very long time.  I don’t feel as though you love me now, or will in the future.  I’ve worked very hard, and I’ve thought this over very carefully, and as of today, I will be severing my relationship with both of you”

 

My dad said: “WHAT?!?!?   WELL!  That’s a really classy thing to do!  DO YOU MEAN EVER?  EVER?!? ”  (angrily)

 

I said, “Yes, dad, and now I’m going to hang up the phone”

 

And I sobbed.

 

I called “E” to let her know that I had made my phone call, and that I was ok, and thanked her for helping me.

 

And I walked across the parking lot ( I called from my car, downtown), and found a nasty, grungy, filthy sewer.  And I threw those words into the sewer.  Because they belong there.

 

And I drove to my son’s school, and I picked him up early from school, and we watched cartoons and cuddled and talked about how fantastic he is for the rest of the day.

 

The next morning, at 8:30 am,  my phone rang.  It was my mother.  No way was I going to answer the phone. No fucking way.  Here’s the message she left:

“ITS YOUR MOTHER.  I heard about the call you made to your FATHER yesterday, and I just want to know what to do about the kids’ birthdays.” 

 

haha.  I put the message on speakerphone, and played it for my husband.  I was trying so hard not to just sob, but when he heard her gravely voice, and the hatred and vile vomit spewing from her mouth….he laughed, and laughed and laughed, until we were both just cracking up laughing at the absurdity of it all.

 

I’m looking very much forward to my next therapy session.  I need to sort out these feelings.  Being rejected sucks, even when you WANT it. 

 

I will feel relief.

 

 

Random.

” YOUR WORDS ARE NOT AS POWERFUL AS MY STRENGTH”

 

“My life is so much easier now that I no longer care what you think of me”

I just returned from a doctor’s appointment.  I am now on 4 medications.  I just can’t believe that.  God, what has happened to me?  This is a temporary situation.  It’s going  to be much better, but I still have work to do, and that’s ok.  Anything worth having…and all that.

Anyhow.  As I sat in the doctor’s office, crying, shaking, and trembing, discussing my medical and emotional frailties, it occured to me that my parents, the very people who caused all this pain, are laying on the beach in South Carolina, at their condo.  Not giving one shit about “how I feel.”

So, something is very wrong with this picture. 

She sends me Cardinals.

My GG adored birds,  especially cardinals and blue jays.  She had little birdie decorations all over in her house.  Cardinals always remind me of her, and  whenever I’m having a hard time, it seems that I look out my window and a cardinal appears.  Happens every time.  Maybe I’m just looking for signs from her, but, I believe this to be true.  She’s in support of my decisions to become independent from my family’s abuse, as is everyone I speak with about this situation.

 

Last week, my assignment was to think about my mom and all of the ways that she has made me feel in my adult life.  So, I went back to the day that I moved out.  Thought about the fight we had over a goddamned phone, one that my GG bought for me, but she had claimed as her own, taken from me, and put into her bedroom.  She told me I couldn’t take the phone.  I’m 18 years old, still a child, moving out, and she was going to deny me of a PHONE?  Yep.  That’s my mom.  And so, it went from there.  Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on your way out, huh?  Not the “moving out” experience that most of my friends had.  Whatever.  She doesn’t have regard for me.

 

I remember that my parents had a yippy, nasty little black poodle-type dog.  I was telling E about that dog in therapy last night.  The dog would sit next to my mom on the corner of the couch where my mom was ever-present with her ice water and pretzels and a romance novel.  The only way to get to my bedroom was to pass the two of them.  My mom would shoot a dirty look my way, and the dog would bare her teeth, if we got too close to my mom.  I laughed this off.  E found it to be horrid, that my mother would allow a fucking animal to bare it’s teeth at her children.

 

Now that I think of it, it is very sad.  I recall that my daughter was bitten by one of my Cocker Spaniels when she was a toddler.  The dog was gone THAT DAY.  huh.

 

I told E last night, that I worry constantly that my children will end up on a therapist’s couch.  She said, yes, that could very well happen, however, my children won’t have horror stories of ME.  She asked me, “Have you ever been cruel to your children?”  This question took the wind right out of me.  I said, “Oh my GOD no.  They are my world.”  And that answered that.  I know that I have broken the cycle of abuse.  I’ve never called my child a name, or made fun of their bodies, or acted sexual to other men in front of them.  I’ve never glared at them as though I wished them dead.  I take them places, I do things with them, I tell them every single day how beautiful they are.  We have a connection, right down to our souls.  When I make a mistake, when I make a bad judgement call, I tell them, and I APOLOGIZE to them.  They know that I am a Human Being, and they respect that.

 

I have no respect for my parents. They have never apologized, explained,  or even come to me to say, “hey,  I really fucked up with you.  What can we do to make this better”

 

Rather, I get a bleeding ulcer, high blood pressure, cardiac arrithmea, anxiety, depression, and shingles.  Twice.
So.  That’s that.

 

It’s a done deal. 

 

I’m out of this.

So, anyhow.

I am riddled with anxiety. 

I have therapy this evening, and I’m looking forward to it.

I feel as if I’m at the verge of a panic attack at all times.

I feel like crying.

I feel overwhelmed.

I am a fucking mess.

I don’t care anymore.

I took This Picture.

“Your words are not as powerful as my strength”

And, my life has become so much more peaceful now that I no longer care what you think of me.

I don’t feel very good today, I didn’t sleep well last night, and, well, I’m having some girlie issues *ahem*…but, for the first time EVER…I don’t crave anything that isn’t already here. 

I don’t want anyone to feel bad for me, or comfort me, I’m not dying, for gosh sakes.  But, I realize that I’m FINE.   I’ll be just fine.

“Stand in the place where you are…think about direction, wonder why you have it now”  – R.E.M.

My Assignment.

Radioactive, cancer causing filth.

 

So, my assignment, given to me by E, is to think.  REALLY think.  Take some time to myself and consider this whole thing.  What do I really, TRULY want.

The first step, and the assignment that she has blessed me with is this: “Think about your mother.  Think about the things that she has said to you, not in your childhood, but in your adult life, and think about how they have made you feel.”

That was Wednesday.  Today is Friday.  I’m in a pissy mood.  I think it’s because I’ve been thinking.  haha.   Therapy is very hard work.

The last words that my mother spoke to me were these very words:  “I don’t give one fat shit about what you have to say about Big Mike.”  

Before that: “Let me see your kiln.   I want to see your kiln.  Let me see it. Let me see it.  I want to see your studio.  WHY NOT?  Why not?  NO??  WELL!”

And now, I will explain.  Big Mike is our best friend, who is in ailing health, and had a health problem that was IDENTICAL to one that my father had.  We adore Big Mike, love him so much.  We call him dad.  Anyhow.   When Big Mike ends up in the hospital, I stay with him.  So…I explained to my mom what had happened to Big Mike when he was in the very same situation.  And she responded with: “I don’t give a  fat shit what happened to Big Mike.”

I’m an artist.  That’s how I make my living.   We are poor, but we are happy and content.  I even have a studio, and it is known to everyone that it is a disaster area.  I don’t let anyone into my studio, except my husband and children.  It is my sacred place, the place where I truly find solitude, and where I connect with my precious GG.  My GG’s vintage, uncut glass lives in that studio.  My mother is not allowed near it.  PERIOD.   I don’t WANT Polly in my studio.  It’s a mess.  And, as with many mothers, the cleanliness and tidyness of one’s home is a direct reflection on their character.  So, I said…”NO” you may not enter my studio.  She has no interest in my art.  She just wanted to see my messy studio.   And judge it, just as she judged my GG’s dusty house. 

E asked me if I plan to be at their deathbeds.  My parent’s deathbeds.  I don’t know.  I just don’t know.  I do know that I will not care for them in their old age.  I nearly fell on the floor when E told me that I don’t HAVE to.  I have CHOICES.  I continuously forget that I have choices.  I am NEVER backed into a corner. Ever.  They are MY OWN decisions, and can be made without reserve or explanation.

She also asked me if I have ever gotten into a knock-down, bare-all screaming match with either of my parents.  I have not.  I don’t yell, not at anyone.  My mother was a maniac screamer for as long as I can remember.  And her screaming hurt worse than the times that she knocked me up against the bathroom wall.

So, no, I don’t scream and yell. 

The next component to this decision, this decision to cut all ties with my family, is the fact that my parents are making a relationship with me dependent upon a relationship with my sister, who scares the shit out of me. Who threw my daughter in a river.  I was later expected to forgive and forget all of that because she’s Bipolar.  HUH?   I will NEVER have a relationship with my sister, I will NEVER forgive her for hurting my daughter, and me, and, if that’s the case…seeya.

Well, Hello.

Uhm, actually, you don't love me. So...zero?

I had actually never heard of this book,  until I had children of my own.  And even then, it was difficult for me to read this book to them. 

I think it’s because  I just don’t envision myself being involved in my own family’s circle of life. 

I can only hope that I’m raising my own children so that they don’t feel the same about me in my golden (why the hell do they call it “golden”) years. 

In other news:  I’m really kind of proud of myself for keeping my weight under control this winter.  Historically, I gain about 30lbs every winter, then diet in, say, March…and lose it all by May.  Not healthy.

But, thanks to Wellbutrin and Therapy, it seem that I’m not turing to food in my boredom.  Not smoking much, either.

I’m dyyyyyyyying of cabin fever, however.  I have *zero* energy.  I could sleep all day long.  Everything I do feels like a big effort.  I’m just absolutely exhausted.  From doing NOTHING. 

There’s a dead goose in my yard.  But it’s on some frozen ice.  I can’t do a thing about it.  The ice is too thin.  Bums me right out.

I sent M a “Friend request” on Facebook last week.  Nothing. 

I need to go.

Today is Just Today.

I find it interesting that, in order for me to grow, I have to prune some of my branches.  The far reaching ones, which are taking my life spirit away.  I need to pull a bit more into my core, and fortify my Soul with nourishment that these far reaching, and disorderly branches are stealing from me.

At that point, I will truly be able to grow. 

But I have to cut them myself.  And that will not be an easy task, for, as malicious and toxic these branches have become to me, they are still a part of me.  A part that has been with me since I was a tiny little twig.

___

OK, enough metaphors.

___

My hubby and I are in deep financial trouble.  Thank goodness we’ve never put a penny on a credit card, but we’re still in trouble.  He has suffered a permanent layoff.  We’re supporting ourselves with our art and his unemployment, and it is not enough.  Our house payment is behind.  Etc, and so on.  I’m worried and scared. 

I’m going to “what if” this, until it’s gone.  I “what if” my problems, and, at the end of every single “what if” is my beautiful husband and me.  And that’s all that I really need to know.

I’m doing the best that I can.

coexist.

..with the tools that I have.  A perfect Human Being, I am not.  But, I’m a damned good wife, mom, friend, and hell, I am even a kind stranger.

So, this brings me to some thoughts on forgiveness, and my upcoming exile from my parents/sister.

I have to realize that they are NOT doing the best that they can with the tools that they have.

My mother, who is kind to my sister, kind to my kids, my husband,is unkind to ME.  This tells me that:

a.  She just doesn’t like me (and I’m cool with that)

b. She is an unkind person

c. She doesn’t really give a fuck if we have a relationship.

d. Since this has been her pattern of behavior for such a long time, this will not change.

ALL OF THE ABOVE.

My dad and I used to be close.  I’ve lost alot of respect for him after seeing the way(s) that he treated my family (and me) when we lost my GG.  I am certain that I’ll have no say in how they are taken care of in their golden years.   And, I’m glad that I won’t have to make that decision, because I’d put the two of them in the piss-smelling dog kennel nursing home that they tried to put my GG in.  And, I couldn’t live with myself.  Bigtime confusion in my head about that scenario.  So, I’m relieved that I won’t have to make that type of moral decision.

If I ever hear him utter the word “nigger” or “faggot” or call me “tub-tub” or any of the other great nicknames that I’ve fallen victim to over the years, it will be too soon.  When I’ve gone to my father, asking him to understand that my mom is CRUEL…he just comes back with “THAT’S MY WIFE YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT THERE!”  (huh?)  So, I’m not missing much there, either.

We stood at my friend “T’’s bedside and watched him die.  My husband, “T’s” dad, and 2 other friends.  He died of AIDS.  We loved him.  When I told my dad about this, he said: “WELLLLLLLLLLLL…..you KNEW and HE KNEW that’s WHAT HAPPENS TO PEOPLE LIKE HIMMMMMMMMMM”

*sigh*

Anyhow.   I will not teach my children to hate or judge the people who are my FRIENDS.

I won’t allow my children to see me cry after my parents leave my home, because they said such embarassing things while they were here.

I won’t allow my children to watch me be abused by “The Kelly and Polly Show”

I won’t allow my children to hear the word “nigger” come from their grandfather and granmother’s mouths. 

I won’t allow my own health to suffer, and Iwon’t steal ONE more minute from my husband and children, worrying about what the fuck my PARENTS might think about decisions I’ve made.

We are trying desperately to save our home from foreclosure.  My husband is laid off.  We have 4 kids.  We are broke.

This Friday, I will be getting food from the Food Bank.  And personal needs items such as shampoo, tampons, soap, and toilet paper.  We had to apply, and were given, food stamps.

And, if my parents knew this…they would disown me.  They would be disgusted. 

But, you see, I *am* doing the best that I can with the tools that I’ve got.  Today, I spent the entire day, alone, with my 14 year old daughter, making beads in my studio.  Talking, listening to CD’s, and LISTENING to her.  Telling her how goddamned awesome and perfect and beautiful and artistic and talented she is.

So, D, P, and K…

you could have done so much better.  You had sooo many chances.

And now, I’m done with you.