I was feeling much better after that last post. I got up yesterday and went for a walk. I even ran into Ian, Lynda and Daisy (ha, that's the first time I spelled her name correctly... I must be over it!) and chatted and scratched butt for a couple of minutes. I tried to bring Lynda into the conversation as well - she should know that I'm over it, no hard feelings, I won't be eating her children anytime soon. And, you know what? Little side bar here but I really never noticed... she's a bit chubby herself.
So, I'm kinda back on my ass again. Not... well... I... hmmm. I pulled out my first journal, from 1987/88 when I was 15/16. Sad. Muther. Sad stuff. And, for probably the first time, I was pissed off. I remember that girl. I remember those feelings of never being able to do anything right. I would try and I would try and nothing was good enough. Nothing has been good enough since because nothing was ever good enough. Although, perhaps that was by my standards, not everyone else's. God, I cry for that girl... for the pain that she was in.
And I got pissed off because why did no one see that pain? Why did they not reach out to me when I so obviously needed them? Mom was too busy keeping up with work and volunteering and she had clubs and committees; Dad was busy making sure no one saw a sensitive feeling slip out when he wasn't paying attention. All of this pain for all of these years could have been eased so much if someone just came into my room and put their arms around me.
No wonder I could never let anyone hold me. That was really apparent in the early days with Ian; it drove me crazy when he would stand there and hug me but I loved it so much after I learned to accept it. I always knew that was a side effect from Mom and the countless times that I came to her and she pushed me away... I would never even approach my dad in that way... there's no way he would accept such a open show of affection. They fucked me up: chemically, emotionally, physically. I know I was there and I know that I had a choice in everything that I said and did in my whole life... I was also a child who was lost and alone and thought that I was garbage. They saw it, they watched it, they both admit that... Mom used to read my diary for fucks sake. Dad told her that I was suicidal. Mom told me in recent years that she didn't like me back then... she didn't like me. She didn't like me. Fuch.
We all know that I don't blame them. I mean, yeah, they made mistakes but, for one thing, they had no control over the messed up combination of them that they created. And they just didn't see me - but I do blame them for not taking the time to look for me. They also had no control over their upbringing and body chemistry. But they were adults, I was a child... they were supposed to be there, they were supposed to love me, they were supposed to teach me to love myself, they were supposed to intervene when I so obviously did not love myself. So, yeah, maybe I do blame them. They were old enough to know better and they did a shit job in raising me emotionally. "What did I do wrong" she used to say a couple of years ago... until I started answering her. Yes, I do blame them, I blame her. She should have paid more attention to her child that was falling apart and less attention to all those fucking strangers that she felt it was so important that she sit on their committees and be such a big fucking hero in the community.
My Julian Gray shrink guy used to say that it was unnatural to blame myself for everything. Oh, the guilt, the self loathing, the constant berating. I didn't really get what he was saying because I knew that I was the problem so who else was I to blame? He said it wasn't natural to take so much on my shoulders but, at the time, I thought he meant work stuff and family stuff... I didn't realize that he meant that I couldn't be in absolute control of everything in my whole life. Maybe taking a bit of the blame off my shoulders will help me put some of this stuff to rest.
And I made a decision today. I am going to be to others who my mother should have been to me. I will have children (!!!!!!!!!) and I will teach them how to love, themselves and others. And I am going to treat my mother with massive amounts of love and respect, I will be everything that she wasn't to me. I will teach her, too.
Another thing just hit me - I finally figured out why, when I was 18, I decided I would never have children - because I learned that having children was such a terrible, thankless burden. Mom told me practically every day.
I know I will feel differently in about 5 minutes but I will say this right now for the first time in my recollection - I hate them. I hate them for what they did. I hate them for not seeing me. I hate them for fucking me up so fucking goddamn much. They fucked up my whole fucking life and I'm so far behind I don't know if I can ever catch up. FUCK. fuck.
Last comment - I had no idea how fucked up I was. I truly honestly had no idea.
