Tag: mother issues

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

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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.

Life of Recovery? Not so much.

ONE DAY AT A TIME WISDOM
Reminder of the Day from Al-Anon book

Sometimes when we hear of our loved one “falling off the wagon” or having a “slip,” we admit that we’re angry at the person themselves. We’re mad at them for wasting our time and how they make us feel—

That’s the trick, not letting this person and their addiction have power over you. Even as the addict experiences a relapse, you must remind yourself that you yourself are not faultless. Sometimes even I stray from what I know is good for me, and choose to do harmful things to myself out of wrecklessness. I have to realize my relapse is just as involuntary and forgivable as theirs is.

How do you think?

You Think Creatively

Your brain works best when you let your intuition be your guide. You like to imagine, speculate, and fantasize. You have fun playing with ideas.

You are interested in theories. You enjoy studying and developing them.

You are drawn toward art and philosophy, and sometimes even math. Almost every subject is interesting to you.

Speaking of which, I did experience my own relapse if kinds. Every couple of weeks, I start to doubt myself and think to myself that I’m tired of weed, sick of needing it. I tell myself half heartedly that I am going to try and quit. The last 5-6 days, I haven’t had any and the result is I am a not very care-free or nice. I’m sullen and moody. I can barely tolerate myself, hate being in my own skin.

I can’t blame my mom for trying to avoid the same feelings; for wanting to avoid facing reality. We do the same thing, just on different scales and I am realizing that as I spark up for the first time in what feels like ages. It’s amazing how much more bearable I find myself, and it was weird, I started looking up research on line for marijuana addiction/anonymous groups and found some information that caught my eye:

Symptoms of withdrawal:
More frequent dreams
Irritability
Anxiousness
Depression
Moodiness

Usually these feelings can persist up to 3 months since marijuana is stored in your body’s fat calls and therefore takes longer to detoxify from.

I was like BULL SHIT. I knew right then and there that quitting wasn’t for me. Jake even said to me, “You’re just not ready yet to quit yet, babe.” Because I was explaining to him my wanting to crawl the walls feeling and how anxious and upset I was. He said regretably that it’s normal for it to suck at least as long as the website said :(((( I couldn’t stand it, 5 days was bad enough. I don’t even like my after 5 days without it. My father used to tell my mother,

“Beg, borrow, or steal, I don’t care what you do,
but I don’t want to talk to you without it.”

I guess I’m the same way. More like her than I like to admit.

Happy Mother’s Day This is the most apt thing I’ve seen in a while. How to Break a Broken Man by BattyNora In Terminus, Gareth tells Rick that, as ringleader, he must pick one of the group in the train car to be sacrificed, but … Continue reading

These are strange times we live in

Strange But True vol. V

I visited with my mother, my aunt, and her boyfriend today. It was a pretty unpleasant experience actually. I hate to admit it, but my mother is poison that just friggin’ kills me. My Aunt Rob is very disapproving of her addiction as well. Rob only stays in town for one night usually because she doesn’t like being around my mom on drugs. She doesn’t bring her kids anymore because Mom is like how she is. It breaks my heart. It kills me.

My mom’s on her own, and she’s doing horrible. No one’s taking care of her, and I can’t. It’s too hard. I can’t, and I know that isn’t a good excuse. It feels horrible to know someone who won’t help themselves.

It was hard enough for me when I dated an alcoholic. Now I have an uncomfortable view of and relationship with my mother because of her drug addiction. I don’t come around because I don’t like her lifestyle, and her absence in my life makes me feel horrible. I don’t like to talk to her or be around her because I just can’t handle it. Being around er reminds me that I am failing her, and I feel ashamed of myself. I feel ashamed of her. I am resentful, and hopeless with despair.

My mom asked my aunt to talk to me. My mom still wants to invite her shithead friend Shelley to my engagement party. I do not like this bitch. I don’t care that she keeps my mom from being lonely. I don’t like her because she encourages my mom’s lifestyle and probably is stealing from her. I don’t trust the woman. And when my mom asked if she could have an invitation, I immediately felt hesitant because I knew if I felt the need to warn my mom she’s not allowed to be on drugs at the party because of Shelley, then I don’t want that fuckin’ bitch there.

However, she is my mom’s closest friend right now so I am in between a rock and a hard place. I am so upset at my mother for doing so badly and not being able to pull herself out of it. I am angry at her. I don’t know what I should do. Rob and I talked about mom going to rehab, and by God if it doesn’t sound like what she’ll need. I can’t help her. I can’t be there for her. She needs more help than I provide.

I want to show my mother I care about her, and that I need her to make this change. Mom. I miss you. I can’t stand that you’re letting this happen to you. I think it would be best for you if you went with Grandpa, and take Zeus with you. My mom needs to go somewhere she doesn’t know anybody and get away from the life and people she’s around now. I love you mom but you need it, you need to get away. I’ll miss you more than anything while you’re gone, but I want you to get better. I need you to get better. I need you, and I’m scared of losing you.Please go away, so you can come back. You can become stronger, you can do better. I know you can.