Weight of My Tears

First of all, I would like to say to the companies who spend a bajillion dollars on the Super Bowl ads:  It’s not a smart idea to alienate a good chunk of your prospective consumers by creating such fucking misogynistic ads.  Yeah, I’m looking at you, Bridgestone, for whomever the fuck Jim Nantz was pimping, and…damn it, the car commercial that said for all the things a man does for his woman, he gets to drive whatever the fuck he wans.  Plus, Dockers, and all the other manly men commercials.  It’s ironic that as more and more women are watching sports, the commercials get more and more sexist.  Or should I say, stupid?

With that off my chest, way to go, Saints!

OK.  Enough sports talk.

I met up with my best friend, Kiki, last night.  I love hanging with her because we are like two peas in a pod, only she’s much more positive than I am.  We are soul sisters.  We can go for months without talking, and when we see each other again, we pick up right where we left off.

When we talked about the letters my parents sent me, she got mad.  It’s been gratifying to see the responses of my friends because I can’t summon up anything other than grief, guilt, shame, and a teeny bit of anger at my father for throwing in the bit about how much the trip cost.  For the most part, though, I am weighted down by the crushing sadness.

I look at my hands, and it’s as though they are dissolving in front of my eyes.  The visage that I have created, the 3D hologram of me is crumbling–and I can’t do anything to stop it.

Kiki couldn’t believe that my parents would send me those letters so soon after the trip to Taiwan and that they specifically linked it to the trip.  She said, “Don’t they know how much you sacrificed to go?”  That hit me hard because it underscored the whole fucking dynamics of my family.

The answer is, of course, no.  They do not know what it took for me to get on that plane and visit them in Taiwan.   They do not know how much it cost me to go through each day while I was there.  They know none of this because I tried my damnedest not to let it show–as I have for all my life.

The other thing we talked about is how my mother is not going to change.  Her ability to look at herself is very limited, and I don’t see it happening at this point in her life.

A disclaimer:  I have no interest or desire in building any kind of real relationship with my father.  I feel shitty about it because it has been drilled in my head since day one that family trumps all, but I can’t pretend to have feelings for him when I don’t.  Besides, he has no interest in having a real relationship with me, either, though he would never admit it.

So, I am not answering his letter.   Quite frankly, it’s not worth my time.

But my mother, on the other hand…I still hold out hope that she and I can carve out a semblance of a real relationship.  One that is based on a mother and daughter interacting in a way that is healthy to both women.  The problem with that, of course, is that I have no reference to how a mother and daughter should act towards each other.  My mother had a shitty relationship with her mother (who was a lot like my father), so she also has no basis as to how a mother and daughter should interact.

A dead feeling enters my heart when I think about it, however, because our relationship is so fucking entwined and messed up.  I don’t know where to begin trying to unravel that nightmare.   And, let’s face it, my mother and I have thirty years of shit that we would have to wade through in order to have a viable relationship.  Which, would mean both parties admitting that something is drastically wrong and in dire need of a change.  Take a wild guess as to which party might not be so sanguine about turning her eye inward.

Kiki was saying that I should ask my mom just what she does love about me.  That hit me even harder because outside of the things I do FOR my mother, I can’t think of anything about me, personally, that she loves.  And that made me even sadder.

I hurt.

My whole being hurts.

I can’t sleep.  Oh, I know, I’m infamous for my lack of sleep, but it’s even worse right now.  I find myself nodding off as I’m driving, and I haven’t done that on a steady basis in many years.  In fact, I am slipping in many ways, and I am not very happy about it.  The self-abuse thing, for one.  The only one I haven’t done (yet) is cut, and it’s partly because I feel like it would be the last straw.  The funny thing is, though, that for years I used throwing up as the barometer for the last straw.  Yet, I have done that in the past few months more times than I’ve done it in the last…five years or so.  Again, I have justified it by saying, “Well, I only do it when I feel nauseous” which is true, but for someone like me, that’s the first step down a very slippery slope.  As for the burning, well, yeah.  The less said about that, the better.

I hate the fact that I have reverted to using these coping mechanisms.  I hate the fact that I automatically reach for them, rather than, say, calling or emailing a friend.  At the same time, I obviously don’t hate it enough to stop.  Although, to be fair to me, I really am only burning.  I stopped the throwing up bit.

My friends tell me that I am stronger than I think I am.  They say that I can do this, that I can get through this, that I can be a viable human being.  OK, OK, they think I already am a viable human being.  The thing is, I don’t feel strong; I don’t have faith that I can actually do the things I need to do in order to support myself; I most certainly do not feel viable.

I feel like I can’t even tread water right now.  Every little thing that crops up now only adds to the burden.  Things that would normally be irritating, but manageable, now seem like impassable obstacles.

When I was depressed, I was too deadened to do anything other than think about killing myself and numbly make it through each day.  Now that I am not depressed any more, I realize that simply surviving is not enough.  The problem is, I do not see a way to do anything other than grit my teeth and plod onwards.  My life fucking sucks right now.  Dealing with all this family shit is killing me.  And, I have to be honest in that I don’t know if it will be worth it in the end.

OK.  I’m skirting around the issue, which isn’t like me.  For the first time in a long time, I am actively contemplating suicide.   I feel like I’m caught in a net, and I can’t cut my way free.  I am too tired to struggle any longer.  I don’t have any fight left in me.  In part, I can’t face what I need to do to my family if I am to break free from the dysfunction.  In part, I am just so fucking exhausted that I can’t think.  But mostly, I just can’t imagine living like this.  It hurts so goddamn much.

The whole family mantra was a lie.  The family facade was simply that–a facade.  We are connected by blood and name only.  The dysfunction and the deceit..I will be taking a hammer to all the illusions and smashing them into smithereens.   I know the ramifications from it cannot be good.  I don’t know if I have the strength–but I know I cannot remain where I am now.

In addition, there’s a little voice inside my head saying that my family is right, that I have no place in this world.  I feel guilty for existing when I am contributing nada to society.   And, I feel the real me slipping away.  I wrote a while ago that I had to choose between life and death if I didn’t want to remain stuck in the inbetween.  I couldn’t keep one foot in each camp, as it were, because then I really wasn’t a part of either.  I still believe this to be true; I am just not sure I can bear to choose life.

18 Responses to Weight of My Tears

  1. Please try and find some real help for your insomnia, NOW. Extreme sleep-deprivation such as yours causes hallucinations and hampers your ability to reason normally. That is making everything worse. Some truly restful sleep may significantly reduce your frustration and numbing hopelessness.

    All my love to you, Minna. You are a good person. No matter what that damn voice says.

  2. I don’t have the words, Snowgirl. But even if I did, it all comes back to something we’ve discussed before: no matter what we say, as your chosen family, the people who love you, the end decision resides solely within you.

    You’re the one who has to find the strength to choose your life. You’re the one who has to look at the chaos and the shit that surrounds you right now and know that it’s a transient thing. You’re the one who has to look past it and look into the faces of those who stand behind you, and make your decision. We cannot make it for you.

    But know that if you do make the choice to stay, to fight, to seek the joy and the peace that waits for you, you have a cadre of people whose hands are waiting to hold yours.

  3. In addition, there’s a little voice inside my head saying that my family is right, that I have no place in this world.

    Jonah? Jonah, is that you again?

    Next, what Choolie said. As I know only too well, nodding off behind the wheel even for a second is extremely dangerous, and not only to yourself (which is why I quit driving to my clients at night).

    I know your therapist has done you a lot of good, but as you’re very frankly revealing here, you situation is far from improving. If you’re at the point where you’re hurting yourself more profoundly than simply listening obsessively to depressing songs, then maybe your therapist can find a little more time for you, or you can get help some kind of way.

    I’m worried about you, Minna, and I’m pissed off that you’re suffering under this burden while your parents act so self-righteous while laying a guilt trip on you that Woody Allen would reject as too obvious.

  4. If you’re feeling this way and acting this way, you need to tell your therapist ASAP and get the help you need. And even though you like your therapist, but if she doesn’t recognize you’re in crisis (burning yourself and saying you want to commit suicide), then you need to get a new therapist.

  5. Choolie, I know the sleep is a big reason that I am having such a damn hard time right now. Even when I do sleep, it’s not restful. My brain is not operating at maximum capacity right now. Or, most likely, even at fifty percent.

    Kel, I know that in the end, I am the one who has to do the actual damn work. I also know that I have a whole team of people rooting for me and willing to lend me a helping hand and a listening ear. And, I expect you to put on the cheerleader outfit and shake your pom-poms for me if I decide to see this thing through, ok?

    Gregory, no fair pulling out the Pillsbury Dough Boy!

    I know the sleep is a big problem, and I really have to do an all-out attack on it because I simply cannot function like this any longer. Quite frankly, I have no idea how I have lived this long on so little sleep.

    My therapist: She is helping. It’s me that is the problem here. I haven’t told her how bad it’s gotten. We have upped our sessions and done some hard work. Unfortunately, more shit is piling up. Damn it.

    Guilt trip: I know. Even the parts that I can see as a guilt trip still manage to make me feel guilty. I worry about me, too.

    Alex, as I said to Gregory, the fault is with me. I haven’t told my therapist that I’m feeling so bad right now. And, it really hit me hard this week for some reason. I think I need to adjust my meds, which is actually a doctor issue. And, I am really not liking my doctor right now, so if I’m going to change anybody, it will be her.

    The bottom line is that I have to be as honest with my therapist as I can possibly be in our next session (Wednesday morning).

  6. The bottom line is that I have to be as honest with my therapist as I can possibly be in our next session (Wednesday morning).

    If you’re injuring yourself and contemplating suicide, I think you should call her today and tell her, even if you don’t have a session today.

  7. Now is the time to RISE UP! And take your squirrel…to the therapist.


    Come on, you know damn well you laughed at that one. But seriously? Use your best judgement, but try to step back and objectively ask yourself if you can wait until tomorrow to be seen. I haz a worry.

  8. Gregory, I was a bit better yesterday (did not injure myself), and I got some sleep. Not good sleep, but still, sleep.

    Kel, OK, I did laugh. And, I had my bagel with the creamy cheesy cheesy cheesy creamy creamy creamy cheesy cheesy cheese cream. Cheese.

    Let me say right now to both of you and everyone else reading this: I will not kill myself today. I will make it to my therapist appointment tomorrow morning. Thank you, everyone for your support.

  9. I’m relieved at your affirmation, Minna, and I think I speak for everyone when I say I look forward to the time — and I hope it’s soon — where you drop the “today” qualifier.

  10. You wouldn’t post about the self mutilation and shit if you didn’t want to talk about it. I’m trying to decide if you are talking about it to push people to bitch at you and validate your need to be a nutcase.

    Just remember it would be insane to react to the insanity with normalcy. But stop hurting yourself You’re just doing to yourself what your dad is too far away to do.

    Ps I love you

  11. Gregory, ever the optimist, aren’t you?

    whabs, I mostly posted because I’m tired of doing the shit and hiding it. I’m scared of where I am right now, and I knew that my friends would rally around me with a bracing combination of unconditional love and ass-kicking.

    I know that I have become my abuser, and I hate it. Honestly, though, the physical stuff doesn’t hurt nearly as much as the emotional shit I throw at myself.

    I love you, too. I hope you are doing OK.

  12. ever the optimist, aren’t you?

    Yeah, but there’s more to it than that. Dropping the qualifiers is a sign of commitment, and it reinforces your will to get past this, instead of yielding rhetorical ground to your demons. Think of it as moving your own Overton window. You don’t do that by conceding rhetorical ground in the other direction, dig?

  13. I’m lost and fighting my own ghosts, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about what I am reading. (Note my email change.I disconnected the home cable today so I am wireless on the phone for a while.)
    I feel like Riff Raff and Megenta…lost in time, and lost in space.

  14. And meaning? But I thought that was some insects called the human race. Or the Criminologist’s @#$%^&! neck.

    I hope you’re better soon as well, SillyWhabbit.

  15. Gregory, ah, I see. So I have to keep picturing the Pillsbury Dough Boy in my mind and telling him that I am not giving one damn inch, eh? When I am not depressed/upset/in pain, that’s easy to see. I just need to hold on to it when I am doing battle, so to speak. I will have more on this in my next blog entry. Thanks, though, for the constant image of Jonah in my mind. No, really. Thanks.

    whabs, I’m sorry to hear that. I am here with an ear (two, even) if you need to just talk. And, I am sad to say I did not get the RHPS reference (I’ve only seen it once), but, of course, Gregory did.