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.
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.