Tag: dearmommy

I am very interested in Hank Hill. I am obsessed with him. I re-watch the episodes over and over and I am always touched by Hank.

He’s not a perfect man. He often is a hypocrite. He’s emotionally distant and all that jazz but I love contemplating his character.

I love how he is such a good friend. I am particularly interested in his friendship with Bill. Hank claims his best friend is Dale, but that doesn’t jive with me. In all his behavior, I think that Hank values and coddles his best friend Bill more. He enjoys his relationship with Bill because he is always in charge. He makes Bill’s decisions for him…. I can’t decide if it’s toxic or not, to me it seems like real love. To take care of someone and always know what’s better for them.

He goes through great lengths to help Bill. He takes responsibility for things that he can’t possibly control. In an episode I watched recently, a college kid threw a water balloon at him and his mom and he took the hit for her. Then he said, “I’m sorry I let that happen.”

He’s so controlling and I don’t why I find that incredibly appealing. Someone who knows better than you, so just let them. That sounds weak minded but it feels good- to surrender, to let someone else have control. Some would say that makes you truly strong, if you talk to the right people.

In the episode I was watching, it’s about Hank driving his mother and her friends to a miniature musuem. He mused about the miniatures and said, “She only took them out when she was heading into a funk. Like when I was 10 to 14….” And he also commented, “-from that time you went weird.”

Hank is so proficient with dealing with Bill because he had to deal with his mother’s depression. Hank instinctively reaches out to support Bill because he has been used to that role in his life. When it was time to do a suicide watch for Bill, Hank took a leave of absence from work to help him. Maybe he had experience with that when he was younger. (Although the point could also be made that previous to show’s first episode, Hank has had to do a suicide watch for Bill before when Lenore left.) But still, his first experience with depression undoubtedly came from his mother.

Yet another thing Hank and I have in common- feeling crushed by our mother’s depression. Feeling responsible for her as a child, the roles reversed. We are the care taker and they act the part of child.

I just love this character. I could go on about him ad nauseam.

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Is my life determined to be ironic at all times?

The things you care about matter. The things you enjoy and are passionate about are important because they are your passion.

Every time I turn around, I notice things about kids. I can’t stop thinking about it. I saw this trailer for a movie and I can’t wait to see it. It wrung my heart- it is exactly what I want to do.

Everyone wants to adopt a baby. No one wants to show a seven year old love. They all the want the little kids. I just want to foster a young boy, maybe brothers if we’re lucky. Will I ever have that?

My girlfriend asked me what that means for my relationship if my husband ultimately doesn’t want children. I both love and hate the idea. The present me loves it because he wishes to care for me and only me in the future. He doesn’t want to share my attention with children. He wants it to just be us.

I am both impatient with and understand the desire to wait to have children. We have time. It’s a life long commitment, and maybe we’re not there yet truthfully. Jake and I’s second anniversary rolled around recently and I get the feeling his feelings are cooled somewhat from times past. Our sex life isn’t the best, so therefore I am not as lovable.  One of my other girlfriends commented that my relationship relies entirely upon my pussy’s health. She wasn’t kidding. It sucks to know hard truths, but a true friend tells them. The bad thing is I’m not always healthy.

I am physically unavailable, and he is emotionally unavailable. We both struggle with some of the same problems but he seems determined to ignore those problems. I have a desire to work the 12 step program and have him participate, also. It’s therapeutic and perhaps we would gain closure in may ways, both together and separately. We both suffer from B.E.D. and we could understand our reasons why maybe if we worked together.

I had the audacity to make this suggestion and my husband resented it horribly. He hated to confront hard truths. He would rather not discuss that which he isn’t willing to examine more closely. The more detailed questions I asked, the more unsettled he became. That will teach me a lesson about trying to therapize my husband without his knowledge.  He does not place nice with others sometimes. He can be a mean, snapping bulldog from time to time. Quite vicious and unyielding. He would never raise a hand to me, but I can remember thinking the same thing about my mother.

Sometimes I ignore how my mother treated me in my past. Not living under the same roof makes me more forgiving. But in reading the book I am getting together, I can’t help but remember how alienated she made me feel. We used to fight and shout with each other. We shoved each other, I ran away from home. I lived out of my car to avoid her. I became an alcoholic without her love. Lost and yearning for a mother figure who didn’t try to make me look incompetent and stupid at every turn. Someone who valued me and wanted nothing from me.

My therapist made a poignant point to me one time. She said it made sense that I liked participating in my husband’s version of microscopic love. My fathers never paid me any attention, and now I had a man that was utterly interested in my every coming and going. I liked the attention to detail. I liked being controlled. I liked being paid strict attention, even when I chaffed against it. I tested his love. It reminds me of a favorite passage from my favorite book:

On the whole, this person with the sunburst on his boots remained cranky and disagreeable in his behavior toward the little blond runt. He realized it, too. Joe knew good and well he had become a pain in the neck, and what’s more he was none too concerned about it. But there was a reason for his unconcern; He was happy.

For the first time in his life, he felt himself released from the necessity of grinning and posturing and yearning for the attention of others. Nowadays he had, in the person of Ratso Rizzo, someone who needed his presence in an urgent, almost frantic way that was a balm to something in him that had long been exposed and enflamed and itching to be soothed. God alone knew how or why, but he had somehow actually stumbled upon a creature who seemed to worship him. Joe Buck had never before known such power and was therefore ill equipped to administer it. All he could do was taste it over and over again like a sugar starved child on a mountain of candy: cuss and frown and complain and bitch, and watch Ratso take it. For that is the way in which power is usually tasted; in the abuse of it. It was delicious and sickening and he couldn’t stop himself. The only thing the runt seemed to demand was the privilege of occupying whatever space he could find in the tall cowboy’s shadow. And casting such a shadow had become Joe Buck’s special pleasure. 

We made it through all the uncertainty. I became used to his law. We are both reflections of the other in many ways. We have dealt with similar things in our lives. He has cared for a physically disabled person in the past as I have. He has cared for and provided for younger siblings and girls especially. We both dealt with an addict parent in our lives. We have both dated addicts in our past and tried to help or change them. We have both suffered from codependency issues, and yet we jumped in feet first with each other anyway.

I read once, “You attract what you are, not what you want. So who are you being?”

Birds of a feather flock together.

Like begets liking.

I have realized that my past partners and I all had things in common. The over arching theme is depression and anxiety of some sort. I attract sad, anxious people because I am sad little monster living in a sick, sad world.

Image result for sick sad girl

The Desire to Procreate

Related imageI was watching videos on facebook when one had a profound impact on me. I will never not stop for a cat video. The one I watched was about a little prematurely born kitten. They took great pains to save this kitten and it even had to have an incubator to survive. All the care and attention to this tiny little thing, and I thought surely the owners were so dedicated and loving to save him.

Only it wasn’t the owner of the kitty. She was, I guess. But her job was actually to nurse these unwanted little kittens back to health so they could be healthy enough for adoption. She said her whole goal was to get them healthy enough to leave her. They didn’t need her anymore, she said. I was astonished that the person doing all that care for them wasn’t some dedicated owner. Her whole function is to get the kitties healthy enough to leave her.

It sounds like being a foster mom. You take little kids that don’t have a place, and you teach them love. Maybe they don’t know what it’s like, and after you, now they will.

I’ve been walking around enviously eyeing mothers and their children lately. My desire knows no bounds, even though I know it is illogical. But so many people who are worse off or not as mature as me have babies and I am left without. I’m nursing quite the chip on my shoulder instead.

Everytime I see a clearly obese woman holding a baby in Wal Mart, I want to scream. They don’t know what they have that I can’t have. I feel so lonely watching them. I want to create and love and cherish somebody. I can’t do that right now, but I have a lot of love to give. I could make a difference in a young child’s life, then send them on their way. Would that make me feel better, or will I always resent my husband for not letting us have kids of our own?

Strange but True Vol. VII

I have been quite emotional lately. Just this last week, I have had two nervous breakdowns. They were two days in a row consecutively. On Tuesday, my mother came over to my house to enlist my help with some social media questions. (i.e. she’s finally getting a facebook) and help with her cell phone.

She has precious videos and pictures of my late cousin Toby on her old phone. It’s falling apart and she needs to switch devices, but the old one won’t allow her to transfer her videos due to it’s damaged state. I have tried everything I can to help her move her photos but I can’t do anything about the videos. I became very anxious with this task because I was quickly realizing I wouldn’t be able to help her. She was frustrated, and I was frustrated.

Then she mentioned my father. She has been DESPERATELY trying to get in touch with him. He is not worthy of her time and energy but what the hell, she says, “You love who you love.”

She has tried multiple methods of communicating with him. She waited 2 years for him to get out of prison, and when he got out, he promptly dropped her. He refused to return her texts and calls. He frequently got new cell phones because he was always losing one or the other. He was able to completely drop off the face of the earth as far as we were concerned for many months after his release. He chose not to contact either of us.

My mother left letters for him at his mother’s house. She begged him to give her closure. When Toby died, she wanted him to know, and even after I was the one that told him- he still didn’t call my mother. I thought that was very cruel of him, for being someone who used to claim to love her. Anybody who knows her knows she lost a son, not just a nephew. It was heartless of him not to call her, especially when he claims to be a Christian man.

I was punishing him for not talking to her. I didn’t want to talk to him. But one day out of the blue, he was back in town and wanted to visit with me. We don’t have very many opportunities to see each other so I said yes. He came and brought me lunch at work one day and we spent 30 minutes together.

I chose not to tell my mother about this encounter. It makes me uncomfortable to discuss my father with her because she immediately needs to know everything we discussed. She won’t take no for an answer and becomes quite belligerent if you’re not willing to divulge details. If I try to be vague, she pesters me for more information. It’s quite stressful, which is why I declined to mention it initially.

I always somehow put my foot in my mouth, though. I accidentally let slip about seeing him and she FLIPPED OUT ON ME. She started crying and told me how could I not mention it. She loves him so much and she doesn’t even know where he is, but I didn’t think to tell her?!?! She was so upset with me, before long, she had me sobbing hysterically.

She can still throw a mean guilt trip after all this time.

***

One day passes without us speaking.

On Wednesday, Jake and I had an unusual shared day off together. They are far and few between. We wasted the entire day lounging, watching TV, and fighting like the dickens. As per usual, it was about marital relations. #snooze #boring #tellmesomethingidontknow #thedword #fml #relationshipissues

Jake infuriates me when he uses the ‘D’ word. He suggests breaking up is a good idea sometimes. I privately agree with him sometimes, but I can’t imagine starting over. Or rather, I have imagined it, and I would rather not. He and I are a good pair. I don’t see the occasional squabble to be worth losing such an important connection. We eventually kissed and made up.

Read this article: These 10 Questions Could Determine if Your Relationship Will Succeed or Fail

***

On Thursday, I decided to give my mother a ring after work on my way home.

Me: Hey Momma, what are you up to?
Mom: I’m just watching TV
Me: Oh, okay. Who are you hanging out with?
Mom: Your dad
Me: …. Which dad? My first dad or my other dad?
Mom: The one you resemble
Me: How long has he been over there?
Mom: Johnny… how long have you been over here? 2 days? 3?
Me: …. I’m surprised you didn’t mention that. It’s only been 1 day since I talked to you. He’s been staying there this whole time and you didn’t think to tell me? You know I’ve been feeling guilty about how I didn’t mention him to you.
Her: *laughs snidely at me* Okayyy…..
Me: Well, I’m glad he’s there.
Mom: Johnny, she’s glad you’re here.
Him, phone background: Hey sweetie!
Me: Hey. I’ve gotta be going. Have a good night.
Mom: Night.

THAT NONCHALANT BITCH

The Lesser Loved

I visited my mother today. She was speaking about her friend Shirley* who committed suicide. Shirley had a small disabled needs daughter who passed away when she was eight. That little girl had an older brother, a boy around my age. My mother kept talking about her friend and where the little girl was buried, and I kept silently wondering to myself about that son, Bradon. I played with him when I was a little girl, when our parents were closer friends. I thought to myself, “How does he deal with being the lesser loved?”

Stranger and Stranger Still

My mother recently called me and informed me that one of her closest friends had committed suicide. She found out the day after it happened- just after the Fourth of July. We will call my mom’s friend Shirley* to protect her identity. A family friend called my mother and told her what happened.

Shirley and her family went to a party to celebrate the Fourth. Shirley was happily married with a son about to be married. His fiance was a blonde girl with two mixed children, a little girl and a little boy. They all lived together at Shirley’s house and the daughter followed Shirley around like a shadow.

It turned out to be a shadow that haunted her. Shirley lost a child twenty years ago. She had cared for and utterly adored a special needs little girl for eight years of her life before she regrettably passed. They say that she had been speaking about her deceased daughter more often lately. She was going through menopause and her mother said she suffered from depression.

Even so, no one expected what happened from her. There was an altercation between Shirley and another woman and they left the party. Everyone went back home. Shirley said she had to go to the bathroom, and asked the little daughter to stay in the living room with everyone else, she’d be right back.

She went down the hall to their bedroom. She collected a shotgun her son had gifted her and wordlessly carried it with her to the bathroom. No one noticed anything until they heard the shot.

Her body fell against the door. Her son had to hack at the door and break it to get to his mother. There was nothing they could do, no help to get. She was gone. Her mother-in-law and sister-in-law came to clean up the mess. Everyone was shocked and grief stricken.

My mother said it didn’t sound like her, she couldn’t believe it. I caught my mother in the throes of denial. She half way wondered if there could have been foul play. It was so utterly unlike Shirley to do this to her family. Her son was supposed to be wed the very next month. The family friend said that her husband was in shock and that her son was angry beyond belief. Who could blame him? My mother insightfully said, “But you know what? Being mad at her is probably what’s going to be what gets him through this.”

When we went to the Celebration for Her Life, I was touched by the amount of people gathered. There were well over a hundred people there. Her death touched so many people. Suicide robs everyone of you. It is so horrible. I know no one knows the pain she was in, but to see all her loved ones gathered makes you think about how you can’t take them for granted.

That’s what I was thinking as I sat next to my mother and squeezed her hand. But even as tears dripped down my face, they weren’t for Shirley. I was secretly terrified the same thing could happen to my own mother.  She lost her son. What if she broke one day, too?

Afterwards in the card, I even told her, “Don’t you dare ever do this to me.”

My summer has been saturated in death and mortality. So many griefs and shocks. My cousin passed away. We found out my Grandpa has cancer. My mother has been pressuring me to talk to my dad for her and I can’t bear the rejection of him not speaking to me. He can ignore her all he wants, but God forbid I try and he doesn’t. The fear of rejection is strong. I couldn’t find the words to tell her that.

My birthday was an affair to remember. The week leading up to it I was a bundle of raw nerves. All I could anticipate was based on past experience and generally my birthdays include crying at some point. Not Happy Tears. I lived in fear of my husband’s temper and belittling attitude and cried in dread of the day. I cried to my mother that I didn’t want to be alone with him because he’s so insensitive and I can be so fucking fragile.

Doesn’t sound like a happy marriage, does it? I have always struggled to get the respect I deserve. I actually specifically asked my husband to be nice to me on my birthday. I just said he always found a reason to yell at me on that day and it would be nice if he didn’t this year. He miraculously didn’t. He loves me, I know he was trying. I guess he actually listened for once.

After the debacle that was my birthday, we had another hurdle to jump as a family. Or so I thought. Toby’s birthday came so shortly after his passing, but we were all supposed to spend it together. It wouldn’t turn out that way.

On his birthday, I called my uncle and he informed me that my mother wasn’t invited anymore. His wife struggled with drug addiction in the past and now she had been found out again. She relapsed and blamed it on my mother. Yes, my mother had a part in it. But she was to blame also for imploding the family dynamic.

Now relationships are strained and we still haven’t all agreed to be in person yet. My mother and aunt had been healing old wounds before. My mother used to hate my aunt more than anyone and they were becoming friends over my cousin’s illness. Now that has been ruined again. My uncle is barely speaking to my mother. Rightfully so.

In tandem with this secret family drama, there is other family drama afoot. My Grandpa has the misfortune of getting diagnosed with cancer shortly after admitting to a life of lies with his wife.

My Grandpa cheated on her. She was willing to forgive him. Then she found out that some family members such as my mother were involved, and now my mother is a trigger in their relationship and she won’t let my Grandpa speak to my mother. He told my mother not to call or text him, he’d get in touch with her. It is heartbreaking what this woman is doing. He’s fucking dying and she’s cutting him off from his family. Her final, bitter revenge for ruining her life with a faithless man.

She’s right to be upset, but there’s a limit. They are bound to separate, it seems. She has been one of my Grandpa’s longest relationships. But he needs his family, and they need him, too. Everyone hates her even though Grandpa is the one that cheated. We live in a topsy turvy world.

To put the cherry on top, I finally had the courage to call an intervention helpline for my mother’s sake and was immediately discouraged. How could we ever pay for rehab? The answer is we can’t. I have to look harder for the answer but I feel so afraid. What if it doesn’t help? She doesn’t sound willing to go. So much effort in a doomed pursuit. I don’t know if I have it in me, and that makes me feel ashamed.

Welcome to my life.

Addictions and What Like

Image result for shameless season 2

Jake and I have been watching the show Shameless on Netflix lately. At first, I found the show to be entertaining- somehow making light of alcoholism and the myriad of other dysfunctions that are going on in the show. It made it seem funny somehow, when really it is just so fucking overwhelming.

The last episode that we watched together, I found my anxiety spiking. When I talked to my friend Latta about the show he told me the show actually stressed him out to watch and suddenly I felt the same way. The episode hit a little too close to home.

Frank the protagonist’s mother gets out of jail. She has been serving a 12 year stretch for meth and drug charges, been released on medical leave an old mean woman. Frank hates her as much as she bullies him and makes him take care of her personal hygiene and the like when she gets out. She’s old and decrepit and it is stated that she should be in a hospice.

She comes into some money that she exhorts out of her old business partner. Having been missing from her grandchildren’s lives growing up, she starts buying them gifts which wins her their affections. The two youngest children get spoiled and love her for it. She takes the youngest kid Carl and decides “let’s teach you a skill.”

In which she meant she was going to teach him how to make a meth lab. -___- In their attempts to get things started, the lab blows up and Fiona the oldest daughter and caregiver of the family banishes Frank’s mother from their home.

Frank’s mother is dying of pancreatic cancer. Frank responds to this by stealing her pain medication and disappearing. He leaves his mother with his girlfriend, Sheila. Sheila has publicly gone on record stating how much she hates this woman, yet in the face of her disease she starts to soften towards the older lady. With the help of her daughter’s ex, she takes care of Frank’s mom until she expressed the desire to kill herself.

Fiona the caregiver had out Frank’s mother in time out, she said. The kids weren’t allowed to go and see her. The grandma is mad that the children don’t come to see her. It seems like she is shameless like the show suggests because she doesn’t seem to think anything of her behavior; i.e. nearly getting a 10 year old killed in a meth lab explosion.

She doesn’t have any reason to live, no one wants her. Her son (Frank) hates her and doesn’t want to take care of her. Her grandchildren aren’t allowed to see her. She is already in a lot of pain. She asks Sheila to help her end her life, and Sheila obliges.

I had to change to something else to watch after that episode. The way the Grandma felt and the pity I felt for her unsettled me so much. It made me think about my own mother, a guilty feeling curling in my gut.

I never see my mother if I can help it. Her addiction and the people she spends time with make me stay away. I don’t feel safe when I go to her house, my childhood home. She must feel as lonely as the Grandma did, and it hurts me to think. She makes me stay away, she could be different, but she won’t be. I hate having to draw the line and never see her. Our family was never like that, and yet here I am. Alienating myself from her, because it’s easier than watching her suffer.

She suffers and there’s nothing I can do to change her behavior. She has to make the decision, but she hasn’t. She makes me stay away. She doesn’t want me around, or she would change. I know it’s impossible… I couldn’t do anything for Joshua either. They have to make these decisions on their own, and mom isn’t ready to. I can’t make her get a job, I can’t make her stop.

I want to be around her. I want not to be stressed out every time she calls asking for something. I want to be able to talk to her without feeling upset. She makes me feel so guilty, like if I could love her harder it would make a difference. But it wouldn’t, and it’s a hard pill for me to swallow. She keeps me away. I hate her for it. But they do say hate is love twisted, it’s that depth of feeling I can’t escape. I wouldn’t want to escape, I just wish she could make things easier. I wish loving her wasn’t so hard.

Loving my father is complicated, too. I value his love, but I hate his lifestyle. I can’t be around or even talk to him. He’s been living in a half way house and he and my mother have reconnected again. She gets to spend a few hours a day with him. And are they looking for a job for him to maintain his status at the half way house? No sireebob. (Who was surprised by that?)

As much as I dislike my father, I’m happy my mom is happy. They are a stupid couple that makes no sense. They both have too much pride to be together. They’re both too head strong. For their relationship to work properly, they’d both have to be different people. I don’t know how, but they somehow make it work even though they’re fighting all the time. They have a very on-again-off-again kind of relationship. It’s hard for me to keep up.

I am dreading December. My dad will get out of the half way house around then, and come back to live with my mom. They are talking about getting married. I would be thrilled if my mother got married, as much as I don’t like him. He loves me, maybe he’ll grow on me. Then she would be his problem. I never know what to do about them, besides hold them at arm’s length.