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.