It Was the Worst of Times

Everything is falling apart, and I don’t know what to do.  My old defenses are gone, and I have none to replace them.  So, I have been resorting to old ones that I thought I had long abandoned, and I am not very happy that I am indulging in them again.  I am not going to list them because, frankly, I am ashamed of them, but I am trying not to do them any more.

It is discouraging to me that I was slowly getting better for the first half of the year, and then, with the flashbacks, I fell so quickly back into the dark place.  The problem is, without my defenses, I feel even more vulnerable and scared.

During my therapy session on Wednesday, my therapist said something that really struck home.  My trip to Taiwan is not the root of my problems.   It is a very obvious beacon, but it’s only symptomatic.  Let’s put aside for a minute the issue of my father.

My family does not vacation well together in general.  My mom is the type who has to do ten things in a day.  When we went to New York, she allotted an hour and a half for the Met and grudgingly gave me another hour.  Then, it was a walk through Central Park before going to Chinatown and then Broadway to see Chicago and then Greenwich Village to experience the nightlife.  Now, if yo are a regular reader, you know I am a lazy bitch who likes to do as little as possible.  I don’t do that much in a week, let alone one day.

For this trip, I said to my mom, I don’t want to do ten things a day.  She said, “We won’t.  We’re older now.  You’ll have fun.”  Since Thanksgiving, she has asked me every time she calls if I’m excited about the trip.  I have equivocated, but I resent feeling like I have to pretend I’m excited about it when I don’t want to go.  Back to the itinerary.  It takes almost a full day to fly to Taiwan (and back again, of course).  We will be in Taiwan itself for ten days.  My mom already has ten things planned in three different cities.  When she listed them off to me (and since added two or three more, including two family reunion in separate cities), I could feel the lassitude creeping into my veins.  Yes, I was getting fucking tired just hearing about all the fun I was going to be having in Taiwan.

Forgive me for straying even more than normal.  I’m a tad drunk, so I’m not as able to marshal my thoughts as I normally am (which, lets face it, I don’t do well when I’m sober, either).  Anyway, my therapist asked me what would be the worst thing to happen if I refused to, say, go to the zoo with my family.  I said my mother would talk at me and wear me down until I gave in.  My therapist, “Go into your room and shut the door.”  Me, “She would talk at me through the door.”  My therapist, “So?”

She wears me down.  My mother I mean.  It’s so much easier to give in than to have her talk talk talk at me.   The problem is that my life is enmeshed with the lives of my parents (my bro as well, but that is not a problem), and I don’t know how to extricate myself from said enmeshment.  I take care of their house for them, and many of my editing jobs are for them or people they know.  In fact, the seemingly endless magnum opus project of my mother’s is part of the reason I’m in such a dark place right now.  I have to finish it in the next few days, and I am so angry at her right now.  It doesn’t help that she keeps emailing me with additions, and I don’t feel as if I can say no.

Choolie and I are having this debate over whether my father killed my spirit or my soul.  She maintains the former, and I insist on the latter.

My parents don’t think I can survive on my own.  They have shown me this in so many ways.  And, they have made me believe the same.  Here is where I believe that my father has killed my soul.  If it were only my spirit that were crushed, I could imagine rising up again.   My soul, on the other hand…I am afraid it’s a lost cause.

I am overwhelmed.  I feel like I have to change everything about me at once.  I feel as if my core is fear, ignorance, and aching stupidity.  I feel the chains that bind me as surely as if they actually exist.  My friends tell me the steps I can take to break free, but they might as well be speaking Greek.  I nod my head and say, “Yeah, that makes sense.”  Then, on the inside, I feel so dense.  I am trapped inside my brain, and my thoughts are making me insane.  I wish I could for once step outside and let my spirit take me for a ride.  Instead, I think think think of all I cannot be, and that truly saddens me.

I am dreading the trip to Taiwan, but that is of fairly short duration.  I will hate it for the most part, and I am sure I will hurt myself in some way (punching walls, kicking walls, whatever), but that at least has an end.  My life doesn’t.  The damaged parts of me, the ruined parts of me, the ugly, twisted, no good, broken parts of me will still be there.   The disgusting, grotesque, weak, and just plain…hideous parts that I try so hard to hide or get rid of will still cling to me like unwanted bile.  I will still be fat and stuck in the same goddamn ruts I am stuck in now.

One way I am reverting to old behavior that I am comfortable sharing:  My sleep is even more fucked than usual.  I was slowly working my way to going to bed at a reasonable time (midnight or one in the morning), but now all bets are off.  I can go to bed at eleven-thirty at night, or I can go to bed at three in the morning.  I am sleeping more, but only so I don’t have to get out of bed.  I don’t want to get out of bed.

Ever.

If it weren’t for my boys and the shit I have to get done, I would be seriously tempted to stay in bed until–well whenever.

My mother made me her confidante when I was eleven.  She used to tell me her problems with my father, among other things.  Not exactly what I needed or wanted to hear.  Believe me, I had enough problems with my father on my own.  She does the same thing now because she is the therapist with her friends, so she doesn’t feel comfortable being the needy one with them.

I have said many times to my therapist that  I feel so guilty that I have rejected everything my mother holds dear (marriage, kids, teh Baby Jeebuz, makeup, etc.).  At times, it crushes me because I think of how disappointed she must feel to have a daughter like me.  My therapist says, “Why?  It’s not your job to make her happy.”  But, you see, it is my job.  It has been my job all my life.

The best example is when she guilted me into attending a family reunion in Philly.  I had to fly out that day.  I got to the airport at eleven, and it was a two hour drive to the reunion.  I had to go to represent my family in the tea ceremony the next morning (which turned out to be the Mountain Dew ceremony), and she would not take no for an answer.  I was letting her down and letting the family down if I didn’t go.

With my father, I am clear that he is a narcissist and that I am an extension of him (in his eyes).  With my mother, I have slowly come to realize that when it comes to me, she appropriates my life and feelings and makes me responsible for her happiness.  As I have said, the only reason I ever considered having children was to make her happy.  Whenever we talk and I’m still not married and procreating (which, let’s face it, is every goddamn conversation), I feel as if I’m letting her down.  Every single fucking time.  She has recently given up mentioning me having children (because I’m so fucking old), but she hasn’t stopped waxing poetic about marriage and how one can grow spiritually from it.

She’s wearing me down.  Just as I thought about having kids for her sake (fortunately, that lasted exactly three seconds), I have thought about hooking up with any old Joe Schmoe just to get her to shut the fuck up.  No, it won’t happen (mostly because marriage is not in the cards for me, for many reasons), but just the fact that I have the impulse is disturbing.  In my sane moments, I can realize that there will always be something she wants me to do that I won’t want to do (another is getting a doctorate in psychology); in my insane moments (of which there are more and more lately), I feel like throwing up my hands and saying, “Fine.  You win.  I’ll get married and procreate if you will just leave me the fuck alone.”

Which they won’t.  And we are back full circle.  I cannot continue to live this way.  I have tasted something different, and I cannot go back to that place.  On the other hand, I don’t have the defenses in place in order to forge a new life.  Especially since I have to change ninety percent (and yes, I pulled that number out of my ass.  So sue me.  My blog, my made-up stats) of my core identity.

I am so fucking tired.  And the demons are getting louder.  And I am spending way too much energy in telling them to STFU.  And I am growing more weary with every day.  My mind is trapped in a cycle.  I may be able to see daylight, but it feels like a hallucination on my face.   I am drowning in the mucus of my own fear, and I don’t have the energy or the strength to pull free.

I went out with my best friend tonight (who was kind enough to drive so I could get as drunk as I can get, which isn’t very, but still), and she laid out a game plan for me to follow in pursuing my new life.  She was positive, but she didn’t blow smoke up my ass.  And, it made total sense.  If I were a functioning human being.  If I were a viable human being.  If I were anything other than the husk that I am right now.

I feel as if there is no there here.  I can feel myself becoming untethered from my body, and it’s taking all of my energy not to just…let…go.  Despite how I present myself, I feel as if I’m irrevocably broken.  I can try to be positive.  I can do the therapy and talk to friends and feel bolstered.  However, when I sit alone at night, that’s when the demons come out to play, and I am rapidly losing the ability and, quite frankly, the desire to hold them back.

Because, you see, if I listen to them, then I can just stop everything.  And, sometimes, in the darkness of my despair, that seems to be the sweetest comfort of them all.

I am very sorry that this entry is disjointed and all over the map.  I can’t seem to pull together my thoughts right now.  I am sad and tired and discouraged and still nauseous and ready to give in and give up.  There is very little fight left in me.  I am tired of myself, and I really wish I could get away from me.