I would guess that 3 out of every 5 visits I have with my mom end up with us having the same argument. I don't even know if it's an argument. Logically - no. There's no way to win it or lose it, but we aren't communicating. At all.
I don't know how the argument starts. And then we're in it. Usually the phrases coming from me are about her marrying my ex-stepdad...and how he (to put it nicely) wasn't the nicest person ever, but she stayed because he made sure we could keep our life in the 'burbs. From her - it goes in the direction of "Fine, I'm a horrible mother and you hate me". Words I never actually say. Then she says, "I'm sick of you dumping on me and I don't know how to make you happy. Would you have been happy if we were poor?"
Usually this argument just dies out. But lately it's gotten worse and worse and worse.
I don't know how to explain it. I don't know anything...or I don't know much at least.
This is what I know...
I don't hate my mom. Or at least I'm pretty sure (like 99%) that I don't. Do I get annoyed? yes. Do I resent certain decisions that she's made that affected my life? yes. But I don't "hate" her.
I feel conflicted about my stepdad and our life with him. It would be so much easier if he was always an asshole. But he wasn't. There were times when he was genuinely nice. And fun. God, most of the kids at school, especially in elementary school LOVED him. He was funny, and entertaining. But he was also cruel and demanding and demeaning. Yes, he would (sometimes) defend my messy room. But other times, be blindingly angry about it. His standards were high and constantly shifting. It was always hard to know exactly what was expected of me...If not perfection than something close? I needed to be smarter, more talented at everything, more athletic. Towards the end of high school, especially junior year, he became more and more erratic - at least in my memory. And harder and harder to please.
I know at least that I had a great childhood from the perspective of someone trying to build an "ideal" child. Great school,, great neighborhood, great extracurricular activities, smiling supportive parents. But the other side was really hard. I can't play "what-if". I probably would still suffer from depression no matter where or with whom I was raised. But it's too much in my head to say: what if I'd had parents who noticed when I started sliding, who would have pushed harder for me to recognize my issues. What if I didn't have someone whose behavior was unpredictable as a stepdad - whose love wasn't predicated on some unattainable bar and traded for insults and yells? Who knows - I can't do that. I'm here. I'm here with the background that I had.
Stability scares me but I want it. The sound of garage doors still makes my heart race. I don't hear them too often any more. But if I picture it...yeah. I want to look around and start scrambling to make sure nothing is wrong....like I did for most of my adolescence. When he'd come home, you'd never know what personality you were going to get. There would be days and weeks at a time when things would go well and then BLAM! something, someone would set him off and there was no way of predicting it. The day to day yoyo is still what I expect. And I suspect that I create my own bad days just because having too many good ones in a row is too uncomfortable.
But more than that - the last few years have...I can;t think of a non idiotic sounding metaphor. When you go away to college, you go away knowing that somethings and some people will change. But for me, I feel like EVERYTHING is always changing. There's this shifting definition of "home" that has now basically disappeared. I went home for thanksgiving freshman year...and things were normal. By Christmas, my parents were deciding to separate. By spring break, my stepdad wasn't living in our house. By summer break we didn't have that house. By the next thanksgiving we had yet another new house. Then was the first Christmas without my stepdad...who BTW had stolen a lot of our Christmas decorations. But things were kinda consistent for a while. There was a groove. Then there was another move - I don't even remember when that one happened. That was the first one where my room wasn't really my room any more. It was now the guest room where some of my things were. Now Mom lives in Chicago. And that's a really good thing for her. REALLY good. But I don't have a room there. I sleep on the couch. Or if someone else is visiting, I sleep with mom in her room. I have no clothes there. I brought this up last night when we were talking and she acted like I was out of my mind for wanting a drawer a corner whatever. But it's not really just that. All of our family is still in Evansville. My 1 friend, Sarah, is in Evansville. I can't drive in Chicago cause mom has a fleet car that's not insured for me to drive. She offers me hangers to hang my clothes when I'm there. But mostly I live out of my suitcase. That has to remain hidden (along with any of my other belongings. It's not home. It's where she lives. I get it. It's a small space and she's a neat freak. But it is not comforting to have to hear constantly... can you put this (referring to my purse, my totebag...whatever) somewhere. Or to have to climb in and out of the space behind a chair just to get a book.
I can't describe how this all makes me feel. There are things and places that you count on. Even when you move thousands of miles away - you...or at least I never thought that it would all disappear and I wouldnt get to say good bye. I know my mom still(?) grieves over the loss of our house. I don't think she knows that I do, too. And more than just the house, I hate knowing, now, that I have no place to run to. There's no home for me anywhere.
So now as my friends get married and buy houses. It kinda freaks me out. Aren't they afraid of what could happen? What if they need/want to move quickly? Don't they realize that 1 in 3 marriages end in divorce? I'm so jealous that they are so confident that things won't change - or if they do it will be for the better. Or at least something they can handle. I want that. I want that, but I can't stop looking for the emergency exit because I know something will go wrong. Or that I'll need the emergency exit when I create something to go wrong.
I'll do whatever, just don't leave me The question I hate the most from nosy people is: so you're close to your mom, where does your dad live? Well...my father. The man who contributed 1/2 of my genetic makeup...including my butt, my eye shape and my messy tendencies...lives in Evansville. Yes, I was 20 minutes away from him most of my life and really only saw him a handful of times from age 6 (7?) to 17. I have a "younger brother" who is 16? 17? who knows. And my stepfather. The man I called dad. The man who I always thought would give me away at my wedding. The man who fussed at me to wear more clothes to prom. And dropped me off at college. He left me, too. The irrational in me still wonders what I could have done to keep either or both of them from not wanting me. Especially my father. I'm a good person. I was a great kid. Everyone in TOWN said that. But he didn't want me. And I know that there was no way to please my stepdad 40-50% of the time, but I tried. And he left me, too. What makes it worse is that my father was always involved in his son's life. And from when I used to talk to him (years ago) the son wasn't as smart as I. Or as cute. Or told as often how great he was - cause damnit I pushed myself to be great at everything. And chose that kid - and never wanted me.
And now - there's nothing mom can say to convince me that with the right offer I won't be traded in for the newer, better, less screwed up version. She thinks that I'm crazy because I pick up on the stupidest littlest things...and make them mean a lot. But I just still wanna know that I matter. That I won't be replaced. That I'm remembered when an evite goes out about an event that I should be invited to. And I know that's my crazy...not her's. But I don't know what to do about it. The rejection/replacement that I feel about her marriage to my stepdad is something that I don't know how to let go. I don't know how to trust that I'm good enough. Or not even that. Just trust that she actually loves me. But I don't know. I don't know what that feels like. I am so afraid of losing her. I am so afraid that she will change her mind about me. realistically 25 years after the fact, it's a little hard to say: screw it, I change my mind, I don't want this daughter. But she could. How do I deal with this? Without being this whiny, needy brat. That she seems to be growing to hate - which will just give her reason to replace me.
In the absence of actual feelings and thoughts...This spring, I saw a therapist who does psychodynamic counseling, as opposed to cognitive behavioral therapy. I wussed out and didn't see her past the intake. I was happy at that point. The wellbutrin had kicked in. I was kicking ass at doing the thought control thing....and she wanted me to start...feeling. She said that I was afraid (? - uncomfortable? unable?) to feel. As she witnessed me falling apart just trying to reach in and explain what was going on in my head/heart, she said that it was obvious that I was so ashamed to feel that I always hid it. She recommended that I come see her once or twice a week...to learn how to feel. And I didn't want to do that at that time. Damnit, I was happy. I didn't need to feel. I'd been feeling for all these years - and I didn't want to feel anythign else. And honestly I don't feel anything else. I keep trying to force myself to think of specific words to describe how I feel. Cause I'm not sad - all the time at least. I'm happy. maybe, sometimes. But those are toddler, preschool emotions. Not real ones. In the last 24 hours or so, I've tried to actually identify how I feel. Some of what's above is a step forward. But today I found a website that says that true emotional literacy means
stating how you feel in 3 word sentences So to be specific...
I feel discouraged. I feel disconnected. I feel rejected. I feel unworthy and inadequate. I feel needy. I feel scared. I feel confused. I feel uncertain. I feel ignored. I feel vulnerable
Last night, I thought about the discussion that started the first time we had this argument this week - Christmas plans and what I really wanted to do for Thanksgiving. I went home for Thanksgiving because mom wanted it. Or at least that's what I thought. I liked the quiet thanksgiving. I liked hosting it at my house. There was something even about Thanksgiving with me and Christmas with her - our family is the 2 of us...holidays should be shared between the 2 homes right? But she'd invited my uncle up. And had accused me of wanting to "keep her from people". So I didn't say: I like our tradition. Why are we changing it? I had the opportunity to go to Oregon to visit a friend, but I went to her. Because I thought that was what she wanted. And it was. Or not? Or she wanted to go to my aunt's house. But she doesn't want me to feel guilted. but she wants me to want to go to my aunt's house because she wants to go. AHHHHH!!!!! And it's no wonder I don't know what thoughts are in my head. I'm the most frustrating friend ever because I can never make a decision. I hate picking out the restuarant. I hate being the first to order, because I don't want to pick something more expensive than anyone else (lest they judge me). I don't pick the movie. My most common answers to questions of preference are: "I don't know" and "It doesn't matter". Or to poll my friends. Even if it's a decision about me - my hair. I get sooooo many inputs and ruminate for days before making a decision. Hell - I can't even buy a toaster oven without becoming stressed. Now some of that is probably me just being silly. But I'd much rather outsource decision making to others to keep the peace or to just make things faster. I try to guess their intentions/wants/expectations. Sometimes the outcome is fine with me. Sometimes it isn't. And mom made it abundantly clear that my indecision is annoying (to say the least) to others.
So last night, I tried to think - in the absence of expectation, what do I want to do for Christmas? I still can't think of a focused answer to that. I can see images of old Christmases that were good. But I can't have that. And I keep wanting to inject logic into any way that we could possibly translate those old images into something current. I keep remembering a Christmas - or maybe I've created a composite of a couple different ones - It was maybe 4th 5th or 6th grade or maybe older, but no...it seems like it really was 6th grade. I think. That was the year I got my CD player for Christmas, and the order of events makes sense for it to be that year. We had Chinese food for dinner Christmas Eve. We read the Christmas story from the Bible. We opened our presents. In the morning, I had 1 or 2 from Santa. Did we have breakfast? I think that was the year I got an espresso maker (yes I was a weird 11 year old...just think, this was PREstarbucks) - I thnk I fooled around with that...who cares. I just remember it was mellow. We had dinner at Aunt Ann's? We exchanged presents. Uncle Bob gave me the Des'ree CD.
But what does that mean for now? Do we eat Chinese food at Aunt Sharon's house on Christmas eve? When do we drive down to evansville? Will it even be the same?
At this point, given the way things were left with mom, the question may be completely invalid...
Finally,
Distance makes the heart grow fonder? I don't call people. I only occasionally return calls. I usually have the intention to - but I never know what to talk about. What to say. What do theey want to hear? More than that - for someone who is afraid of being rejected, I make it pretty easy for me to be forgotten/ignored. I was told earlier this year that I am distant. That person later said that it was funny...cause I always seemed so cool, but with a little (or a lot) of digging the truth and my true feelings were there. In the last few weeks/months, I've gotten really good at being social. And I still keep people at arm's length or further. I don't call home or old friends or family because what would I say? they say: how are you? I say: tired? lonely? confused about what the guy I hooked up with saturday really wants? Why sit on the phone and have a superficial conversation? I don't know what the point of this paragraph is. I should call people. I should stay in touch. And I'll try.
Anyway - I feel better. A little after typing this. Hopefully I'll be able to sleep tonight - and rest. I'm posting this. And sending the link to my mom. I hope this helps(?). I don't know any more. I just know that more often than not - I actually put what I'm thinking/feeling in this blog. Or at least provide an accurate account of what's going on in my life. I know it's kinda one sided for me to write this looonnng diatribe. But she and I don't talk. Or we talk and don't listen to each other. We're so accustomed to what we think the other is going to say.
But no matter what it helped
me to write this. I don't know what the next step is. I've contacted my therapist. Maybe there's a class, like my depression class, about relating to people? Maybe I actually need the psychodynamic counseling (though I'd rather not)? All I know is I'm tired. How do normal people go around feeling all the time? I now "get" why people use drugs. No, I'm not going to go find drugs. But if there's something that would just even me out then that would be nice.
I've put up a Christmas tree (2 actually, but one is a table top) and even purchased and decorated a wreath for my front door. There's something funny that happens to you when you realize that you've a) bought a wreath, b) you've bought an un-pre-decorated wreath, and c) you're disappointed that Michael's doesn't have white feathers for your wreath (you do, however, draw the line at scouring other craft stores for the feathers). I've also tasked myself to getting my apartment clean in time. AH! that's the real test - or rather, cleaning it this early in the week and committing to keeping it clean till Sunday. I've also planned a small menu of hors d'oeuvres and am still perplexed as to what drinks to serve.
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