As I’ve written earlier, my mother and I, until my gramma’s recent death haven’t spoken for 5 years. We’ve been trying to find a way to make some kind of relationship work and it’s been awkward and stilted. I wrote that email and she finally responded.
It wasn’t good. She wants me to keep secrets from my partner. She wants me to keep apologising because I’ve hurt her more than she could possibly hurt me. She wants me to stay out of her (nonexistent) relationship with Liam.
I can’t do any of that for her. The thing about narcissists and their scapegoats is that they never can stop trying to isolate that person, even apparently after 5 years of silence. They never learn. They can never accept their fault. They are always the victim because it’s always about them. I wish this were different. I wish I could make her into a real person who has empathy and compassion. I wish the world could see the monster she is when it comes to me.
Once again. I got my hopes up and predictably managed to get myself hurt. Not destroyed though. Everyone I love predicted this end and I’m okay because they’re with me helping me put the pieces back where they belong.
Never. Never trust a narcissist.
Today was the day. Museum day. In a new department. Doing new things. With new people. I barely slept from anxiety last night. I took a second klonopin before I went in to meet with the new people.
Background…. I volunteer at the state historical museum. I started out working on an exhibit with the state curator and have bumped about a bit since. Now I’m in archives and today I started going through birth records from various counties from 1893. It’s boring, but time consuming and much needed. Nonetheless, it’s my attempt to get out and people and try to do exposure therapy.
Omg… it was only 3 hours today and I am just wiped. I want to nap and never move again. Then I remember all the peopling I have to do tomorrow. Liam’s sweet 16 (whether he likes it or not). I have to marinate the flank steak tonight to make tacos tomorrow. I have to get the cake tomorrow. He has a friend coming over for tacos and cake and then we’re all going to a baseball game. Ugh. Queen Latifah give me strength. Or more klonopin. Either way. Thursday I am doing absolutely nothing. I’m gonna sleep and sleep and sleep. Oh well.. I have to go make dinner.
So, I’ve spent the afternoon obsessing. I want this to be transparent and yet at the same time I struggle because I’m pretty private when it comes down to things. I try not to complain too loudly because no one (in my opinion) wants to hear me always whinging about all the things that are wrong in my life when I know I have some pretty fantastic things that balance the scales. At the same time, I don’t want people to think I’m ashamed of the mental illnesses that make me up. I live with them, I fight them, I struggle with them, and I get pissed off and discouraged about them all the damn time. I don’t want y’all to think that I’m putting on a brave face because, truth be told, this shouldn’t be a place of inauthenticity. So…
I’m struggling. I don’t know which diagnosis it is that’s ruining my afternoon. ADHD? Bipolar II? C-PTSD? Generalised depression? I’d list anxiety, but that fucker is always causing problems. I’ve been getting tired of the same old routine that I go through to keep my mental crap in check; bedtime meds, morning meds, therapy, journaling, talking to friends about whatever I’m obsessing about, coloring, listening to music, watching an endless loop of Bob’s Burgers because it makes me feel seen, watching Doctor Who when Bob’s Burgers is too much. There are so many things I do to try to distract myself from whatever it is that’s bothering me that day. Coping skills as my therapist and most of the world would call them.
I realised the other day that there are people out there who don’t have mental illnesses and I marveled at that fact. Like, they get up every day and while they might not be thrilled about their job, they’re okay to go and just… exist in a somewhat happy if not contented bubble. Holy fuck, what is that like???? Who does that? There are people who don’t have panic attacks in crowds. There are people who actually like crowds and go to festivals and concerts and rallies and what not and it is not a big deal to them. I cannot wrap my head around it. I want to interview them for the rest of my world… my big beautiful group of friends on the Island of Misfit Toys. I can’t even imagine it.
My mental illnesses make crowds impossible without at least 3 klonopin in my system and even then that’s pushing it. I can’t work because of the panic attacks. I’m trying to start volunteering at a museum again to see if I can’t push through it through exposure therapy. I feel badly because it means I miss out on a lot. People don’t invite me out much because I usually decline the invite, though I always appreciate it when I’m remembered and usually wish I could bring myself to go. I miss people. I miss so much there really isn’t a way to focus it all into a coherent list. I really wish I knew what it felt like to be a person without a mental illness, though I think they’re unicorns.
I sent my mother my list of boundaries and things I need from her to make this fledgling relationship work. I did it on Thursday and 4 days later, there’s still not a word from her. I’m catastrophizing and convinced I’ll hear nothing from her and I just want closure. Ugh this is the absolute worst. I’m glad I did it – it absolutely needed to happen – but I’m so stressed out about it.
In other news, I’ve been trying to work on my novella a little. It’s going slowly and I keep having amazing ideas as I fall asleep, but I can’t shake the feeling that it’s self indulgent bullshit. I’m sure someone will like it, but it’s not going to win any awards, though that’s not why I started writing it. I started writing it for therapeutic purposes and while I’m not in the same place as I was 5 years ago when I started it, the fantasy of it is still alluring. It’s semi autobiographical, but more in a “this is how I wish things had gone” kind of way.
Liam’s 16th birthday is looming and I’ve been having so much fun teasing him about his “sweet 16”. And yes, that means I’ve had a cake ordered with “Happy Sweet 16, Liam” written on it. However, that’s all I’ve done. I don’t want to humiliate him. He’s still got to do driver’s ed so his license is at least 6 months away, but I feel for him. He has to get a job to pay for his insurance before we can get him signed up. I’m excited for this birthday so he can start down the path for more independence, though the idea of him driving scares the hell out of me.
I don’t know how ready I am for him to grow up.
I usually say this with a smirk on my face, but not so much lately. With my mother eager to reestablish a relationship I need to figure out what I need from her in order to go forward, or so my therapist says. I sat down tonight and wrote a draft of an email to my mother and I just feel sick about the whole thing. I know I can’t keep letting her walk over me, even if it’s unintentional, but setting the boundary is so damn hard for me.
I’m used to no boundaries. I’m used to her causing whatever damage she wants and then getting to self destruct by cutting myself once we’re off the phone. I’m used to losing my shit once a week because I can’t handle her. But that’s the me that existed 5 years ago. That version of me isn’t very present in my day to day, except now. I can feel the pull of that personality and I want to let myself unravel because how much more damage can she do? Then I look at how much worse my suicidal ideation has gotten in 2 months and I just don’t know how safe it is to continue playing with fire like this. I still feel like the greatest kindness I could do for her would be to kill myself (ps. I am safe.) and can feel the pull of that thought. I want her to love me, but is it worth the possible loss of my sanity? I’ve considered hospitalization a few times in the last few weeks, but it scares me. I don’t know what they think they’d accomplish in the hospital. Would they be able to stop her calling, texting, or emailing me? I could block her on all those platforms, but why should I cause her more hurt when it might not be necessary?
I don’t just want a mother. I want that mother. I just don’t think she really wants me..
2 years. A lot has happened. I finished my book. It’s not quite what I had hoped for, but it’s better than I feared. I’m on draft 4 and am dragging my feet on it because I keep getting distracted, bored, or just stuck. I come up with fantastic ideas when I’m nowhere near a computer or my phone. Usually when I’m falling asleep. I’ve also started playing with the story I abandoned when I started working on my book. I named it Good Enough, but I don’t foresee it being anything more than a long short story or novella and I doubt very much it would be published.
So, personal life… I checked back at the last thing I posted and it was basically Liam stuff and my ablation. It worked, no more periods, no more pain. Liam is almost 16 and weird as hell in his lack of desire to drive. Otherwise, he’s becoming incredibly chill and is probably my favourite person ever. He’s a dork, but embraces it now. He gets into shenanigans with me and it’s awesome. He’s amazing.
I’m okay. Still struggling with C-PTSD, horrible anxiety, depression, and all the things that come from the childhood I had. Which, I think I may actually get into on here. My Gramma died this summer and has left me feeling incredibly alone and adrift, which has been really hard. To complicate matters, my mother is back in the picture and most of the time, I don’t know how to feel about it. I want to be happy about it, but at the same time I’m cautious and wary of her. It’s just complicated.
My birthday was on Saturday and by all accounts an amazing day. I had a friend drive in from Chicago. We all went out to a lovely lunch, came home and went swimming, relaxed for a couple hours, and then went out to dinner with friends so close they’re family to me. We spent three hours just talking about everything under the sun and it was so nice to feel the love on a day that makes me anxious at best.
My birthday is a date that is usually marked by something horrible happening on or around it. Literally friends and role models have died, rioting has broken out, and this year my curse struck early with my Gramma passing in June. The only reason I’m counting that is because I was supposed to be up there this weekend to spend my birthday with her, so I’ve been dreading it. So far nothing has happened other than my Gramma passing and I’m surprisingly hopeful that that’s as bad as it’s gonna get because that alone has been brutal. I just can’t shake the feeling of foreboding that comes with it though.
In other news…
It’s been a while. Okay. It’s been 2 years and some change, but to be fair, I’ve been focusing on my book and other not so fun things and some actually fun things. I will update that soon. Hopefully this week if I can’t tomorrow. Anyways… how have you been?