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imagesCA4V39REI am back to talking to my mom again.

I had a very good session with the counselor on Thursday, from which a new outlook and the taking back of some power in my personal life, has since occurred.  With these feelings of peace and strength, also came a truce of sorts with my mother.  I am not sure how long this period will last, if it will just be a few days or from now on, I can’t predict yet.  I do know I am a little more at peace and a whole lot less depressed.  So that is a VERY good thing.

This morning while doing dishes (one of those mindless tasks that always seems to invoke a thread of words that I feel must be IMEDIATLY written down, thus resulting in no more housework and hours of me sitting at the computer), I had an epiphany of sorts:

My mother lost her mother to cancer around 23 years ago.  I was 15 when this happened.  I remember her being extremely emotional and upset, crying and hiding in the bathroom for hours, disowning me for being late home from ballet class, lashing out and yelling at us all.  I remained fairly detached during this time.  I was not very close with my Grandmother, after all, I remember she had been quite mean to my mother, and she really just made it difficult to ever get very close to her.  I continued to be my mom’s “good girl” but I do know I was not the “comforter” my mother needed at that time.  I was only 15.  I remember my Aunt calling me “strong” and “just who Mom needed to get through this”, but I really do not remember doing much different from how I always had been, maybe a few more hugs and a little more obedient?

My grandmother was, what I have now since learned, the epitome of the Co-Dependant parent.  She was the main reason my mother became the person she became, the mother she became.  My poor mother had no chance of ever being a different kind of mother.  Things like “co-dependant parents”, “depression”, “verbal abuse”, etc… were not discussed or even diagnosed in the 1950’s.  She only knew to raise us girls the same way she had been raised.. with an iron will and a ready belt.  Guilt and shaming were the only words she knew.  Conditions, the conditional love… all learned from my grandmother, who probably learned it from her own mother.

So, I feel I owe my mother an apology, of sorts.  I need to release this anger I have towards how she raised me.  I know she loved me, I know she did some very wrong and unfair things to me…. said some very mean things, did some things that nowadays would be considered  “abusive”,  and YES I still have a right to  be angry for those things,  but she also did some very good things, some very loving things, and she did the very best she knew how.. It may have taken her a good 30 plus years to get there,  and it may have taken me fighting every step of the way,  but she was learning to trust me and allowing me to take back some control, however small, she was giving in… a little.   Part of it may have been that she knew she was not long for this earth.  I know she was trying to prepare me.  I don’t know if she realized just HOW hard it would be on me, but she was worried.

I don’t think for a second she would have ever taken responsibility for her actions and words against me all those years, but I do think she understood that some of the mistakes she had made were very bad, and that I was being very kind to just “let them go” the way I had.

I feel like, for now, I can release some of this anger and just allow myself to miss her and at LEAST make it through Christmas and New Years without blowing my brain out with the loaded “anger gun” I have been waving around.  I hope.

I still feel like a scared little 4 year old girl that has lost her mommy… I’m just not soooo mad and accusing her every minute, thats a start…. thats a start.

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Mom, doing something nice :)

Mom, doing something nice 🙂

 

It’s hard to belive it has been 2 months now since momma passed.

I have been so busy just trying to muddle through the day-by-day… I have let the time slip by.

I went to a Christmas program with my boss Saturday night.  I thought it would be awful, but it was really pretty pleasent, for the most part anyways.  It was very hard to sit through the show without thinking “Mom would have loved this!” or “Oh, mom’s favorite song!”

I did even tear up a time or two with the sadness that mom would have really enjoyed that music so much more than I was.

I allowed myself to miss her for the rest of the evening.

I think I have been sooooo very busy being angry with her, I have not been allowing myself the time to remember, grieve and actually MISS her.

For everything bad I say about her, I can now say a good thing just as fast.  And you know, she really was a good person in so many ways.  She tried so very hard to create a perfect, christian world for us.  I think her human side, her mental state, just did not ever allow her to be “happy” with her results.  I think she might have been just as hard on herself, on the inside, as she was on us.

Today I am going to “TRY” (big emphasis on the word “try”) to put up Christmas decorations and the tree.  I am going to try to get through December the best I can.  Then maybe I can look forward to kissing 2013’s Ass… GOODBYE!

This has been one Hell of an awful year.  I’m just going to try.. that’s all I can do, right?

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I used to dance.

I used to bend and stretch, leap and twirl… and fly.

I used to be free.

I used to be free in both body and mind, if just for that one hour.

I used to think simply.

I used to think of nothing but the steps, the music, the rhythm and the counts.

I used to be lovely.

I used to glisten and glow with the sweat of accomplishment, of pride, of exertion.

I used to be strong.

I used to be strong with deep breaths and sore muscles from a workout well done.

I used to be strong, in body and mind, strong enough to push myself and never cry for mercy.

I used to soar with a freedom that only youth can give you, rivers of sweat running down my back, instead of feathers.

Movement and strength were my armor

I used to dance.

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You know something is very, very wrong… when you have to force your foot onto the brake of your car…. rather than plow head first into a “Dead End” on a dirt road.

I sat there for probably 10 minutes… dirt catching up with my car and flying on passed into that big black and yellow sign. I cried, screamed, hit the steering wheel… chastised myself for being such a coward. Told myself I wasn’t even good at killing myself.. I am a complete failure at being a failure. I probably wasn’t even going fast enough.. I would have just damaged my car and never have hurt myself.

Such a loser at being a failure.

I am a mess. I am  a complete book of undiagnosed psychological disorders. I would be a case study for at least a small junior college psychology class.
Depression, Grief, Bi-Polar, Anxiety, Suicidal, Co-Dependant Survivor, Sex Addict, Control Freak, Insomnia, PTSD, Abuse Survivor, Shop Lifter, Liar….
And probably some schizophrenia… in there to.

I don’t know who I am without my mom here to tell me.  I don’t know who I am without that person here to affirm my place. To validate my day-to-day existence. Who AM I??? Who AM I???

She has been gone a month now, and this feeling of “Ok, its been nice… but I’m ready for you to come back now” is overwhelming! I’m ready for her to return from her long trip so she can tell me that I did a good job… that everything will be ok now, that it will all go back to normal, test over.. I, at least, did a fair job… show me the areas that i need to improve. Show me how she would have done things differently, better, how I can learn from this…

I am scared I am going to return back to old ways. Everytime I pulled away from mom… I went spiralling out of control. I became this dirty, horrible, ugly person that did bad, ugly things. I stole things, married a jerk, lied, cheated, drank, had sex with random strangers… all to fill that void that was left after having mom say she was “disappointed in me” after we had a fight or argument… After she found out something bad about me… I always filled that void..
Now I can’t. NOW I CAN”T….

I have others to think of. I can’t drink, it bothers my son; I can’t have random sex, that would kill my sweet boyfriend; I can’t steal… I would go to jail… I can’t talk to anyone… or they will all know… they will all know… they will ALL know…
I have kept things inside and hidden for so long. I have always hidden who I am, from mom. I have ALWAYS been her “sweet baby” Her baby… HER BABY… nobody elses… HERS
 She OWNED me.. she pruned me, shaped me… gave birth to me to be HER child, her baby.. her perfect child… and I fell right in step beside her. Everytime I pulled away as a child I was spanked unmercifully with a belt.. everytime I argued with her… everytime I stepped out of line just for a second I was spanked and slapped and hit and told how bad I was… how I would mind her… Mind her, Mind her… MIND HER…

I minded her for 39 years.
 I was a good little girl. I did what I was told, I let her control every little thing in my life… i lied to her over stupid things.. just because I knew she would not like them.. I Lied, I Lied.. I am good at lying.. I am the best. Now I lie to everyone about how I am…
“I’m fine”, “I’m ok”, “oh, you know.. it’s hard, I miss her, but she’s in a better place now”….

Fuck that!!! I am PISSED!
 How dare she micro manage me, guilt trip me, control me, force me, teach me, preen me, build me up, knock me down, belittle me, control me, control me, CONTROL my EVERY MOVE… and then just LEAVE me?!?!?! How dare she do that to me?!?! How dare she leave me to flounder and drown? How dare she teach me to only swim with her help and then take away my life preserver?!?!

HOW DARE SHE???

I need counseling, I know I need help. I worry that opening up that door and telling everything to a complete  stranger will start me back on that self soothing road… that’s where I learned to steal, thats where I started to spin out of control with drinking, how I learned to go to the bar at 4:30 on a Wednesday afternoon and there was always a horny business man ready for a romp in the parking lot. Hot, stinky breath whispering “Who’s your daddy?” “what a beautiful little girl you are”, stupid Mother Fuckers never  realized that if I was just 1/10th less human I would have killed him at the exact moment he came… But I only smile sweetly and tell him my fake name and I will see him next week. Never to return…

How do i go back to the point of being as raw as hamburger meat… a walking, bleeding, wound for a whole week, while someone the same age as me with only 20 more college hours than me, discusses this messed up client at cocktail parties and in bed with her husband… How do I do that?!?! it’s not judgement… it’s a good story… but how do i know that someone else is out there judging my mom? Me?? My mom was a good lady, she did lots of things for other people in the community… But the mom I saw at home was so different, I always had to remind myself how wonderful she was.. If I start tearing her apart in counseling.. will that mean I am no longer a good daughter? Her “Sweet Baby?”

The Dead End sign was staring back at me. I could turn left and go away from my kids and life.
I could turn Right and head back towards everyone who loves and needs me.

Or I could back my car up, and try it again….

I chose Right…. I think.

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