Day after Christmas. My, what an absolutely wretched day that turned out to be for me, replete with mom screaming at me at the end of the evening, and basically kicking me out of her condo. All because I had called her earlier in the day, saying I felt ill, and needed someone to help me heat the catered food up in her oven and on the stove top. I am taken immediately back to my days as a small child, when I would be afraid or sad, and go to her looking for help and comfort. Many times she would get angry with me, a fight would probably ensue, and I’d end up crying in my bedroom up on the second floor (the one with the blue and white flowered wallpaper I hated).
Now, I’ve been in talk therapy for over three decades, trying to figure out why I have no self esteem, why I can’t stand conflict, why I’m sitting here, listening to Blues on my headphones when I should be enjoying my coffee (which is now getting cold). Michael’s Christmas gifts were even all wrong, shoes that didn’t fit, except for a pair of black boots which fit perfectly. And I guess he did get me Winan’s chocolate, though he got into it last night and ate some. Thanks.
So of course I’ll call mom this morning and grovel…apologize and say I screwed up (even though I didn’t) and maybe let her yell and lecture me some more. See folks I’m pretty smart and I know exactly what happened yesterday: anorexic mom got on the scale yesterday morning and was presented with a number that made her unhappy. So she was hot-wired to explode and the target was ME. All she cared about yesterday was not gaining weight from the Christmas dinner. The gig is up, I know who is the collateral damage from this insane behavior. So my Christmas was destroyed, thank you very much.
Now the tricky part is how do I move beyond this anger, how do I forgive mom for her shortcomings, yet still honor my hurt feelings? My anger? My natural urge is to suppress, but then I just end up exploding. I have to remember mom is living her final chapter of her life, yet still anchored to her scale, a big, “Don’t Tread On Me” if I ever saw one. I certainly don’t want her upset, so here comes my people-pleasing nature. God, I’m sick of analyzing this all…can’t I ever get respite from my brain?
My therapist Richard Fetter did talk to me two days ago, Christmas Eve morning and he told me to relax and enjoy the holiday festivities. But honestly I wish he had told me prepare for the worst because basically that’s what I got handed yesterday. This morning I’m unsure about my Kroger, New York Times Cooking, my mom, things I depend upon daily to stay healthy and stable. I feel alone, even though I have Michael here and the hounds. I’m going to try and stay optimistic, keep looking for scraps for my art projects, just taking it one day at a time, as usual.
I noticed my sister Tracey has a new vanity plate on her car: PAUSE 1. I’m going to ponder that today. My first thought is of those old Radio Shack tape recorders with buttons on them, I think there was a red button for “record” (or something like that?). Hmmm, I’m feeling the urge to draw…
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