Friday, April 8, 2011

~~~Deal with the faults of others as gently as you deal with your own. Under everyone's hard-shell is someone who wants to be appreciated and loved.~~~

I told her I wouldn't write about her.  She's going to be upset.  I just can't help it.  I'm upset and I have no other outlet.  There isn't anyone I can talk to.  Even if I did have someone to talk to, she would get mad at me and automatically assume that I'm talking shit.

This week has been hard. Denise passing has reminded me that I've never done a very good job maintaining relationships.  I can't even talk to my mother.  There is so much resentment on both sides that neither of us are seeing the big picture.  When it comes to my family, I live in a fog.  I go through the motions knowing there's sunshine on the otherside of that fog but I can't get through it.  Some days it's whispy fog but some days, I can't see my hand in front of my face. 

I've tried on many occasions to pin point where our relationship went wrong.  The only thing that I can come up with is, and I say this as the adult that I am now, we are too much alike.  Not only do we have a lot of the same personality traits, we've struggled with depression.  We just dealt with it differently, I think that caused a huge rift.  I chose to be vocal or rebel or whatever and she didn't want to have any part of it.  She could never understand why.  I could never understand why she just couldn't be honest about it.

Last night, we got into yet another argument about my life.  She was upset with me for referring to Denise as a second mother.  See, she believes that the reason I smoked cigarettes or drank was because Denise gave it to me.  None of which is true.  Because of my issues with depression, I have an addictive personality.  Doesn't really matter if what I'm doing or feeling is good for me, I get addicted to the feeling.  Hence, me drinking as a teenager and continuing, my series of abusive relationships, etc.  There's a lot of factors that go into me drinking, all of which she should understand, but she doesn't. All those "things" I did... are petty.  There's a bigger problem but instead of figuring out what it is... she just yells at me for the same things over and over and over.  I've been hearing the same things from her for over 10 years.  But heaven forbid... I can't say anything to her.  If I try and apologize for the upteenth time, she tells me I'm narcissistic and selfish.  I can't bring up the cycle of alcoholism in the family because it brings up her childhood.  I feel for my mother and what she endured... in a way, the two of us dealt with the same things.  I just dealt with it in men and not family. 

 Instead of having a civil conversation with her about events that effected the family, she yells at me and tells me all of the things I've done to screw up.  I know I made bad decisions.  I know I wasn't the best daughter.  I refused hugs from her growing up.  I refused to talk to her when I had bad thoughts running through my brain, all the while telling her that I was fine.  I forced growing up because in my manic brain all I could do is rely on me- NO ONE and I mean NO ONE, had any idea what I was thinking.  But that makes me think.. all the times I did try and talk to her... her response is that I was being selfish. 

Most days I lay awake encased in a dream that we can smile at each other and mean it.  Most days, I'm hopeful that we will like each other again.  My family lives in a merry-go-round...  A cycle...
Drinking... Fights...Not caring about each other's feelings... Disowning people...
This isn't a new cycle... This didn't start with me and her.  But at what point do we say enough is enough?

Honesty is a fickle thing...  You can give and give and give to someone but sometimes, it's not enough.  Sometimes... the only thing you can do is be honest with yourself.

I've edited the shit out of this post...  I told her I wouldn't write about her.  But I think she should take it as a compliment.  I love my mother.  I've spent this entire week hoping that my mother doesn't pass away.  I've spent this entire week being forced to realize that my mother isn't going to be here forever.  I don't want to be that girl that walks into her mother's funeral, not having spoken to her in years. 

 I've succomb to the fact that me and my dad just don't talk, that's nothing new.  But my mom?  My mom of all people should have a little understanding. 

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