5:10 p.m. - 11/27/01
she reminds me of what I really am. (2)
It's time for me to be working on dinner, but I just can't do it at the moment, not with Mom and Pop fighting for stove space with all their odd foods. Ok, so my dad's foods aren't *odd* - they're just so very bloodied-cow-like, and somehow that does little to appetize me. I suppose I should be used to scary smells from the hospital dining room (although the food was far better - for the most part - than most hospitals get credit for). Anyway, I decided to journal instead, give them a little time to finish devouring their caveman-cuisine, and then continue with my compliancy. I've been a good girl today. All compliant and such. :-)
Although my mom thinks that I'm restricting, and after accusing me of that yesterday, (ok, she didn't accuse, she simply asked if her assuming that I'm generally an honest person is naive) she's denying ever having thought such a thing. Even though I can *hear* the heaviness in the air as she thinks it. Like today when my new therapist suggested that perhaps I should see her twice a week during this whole transition/ holiday period, I felt the need to turn to Mom and explain that there were other ways to struggle that had nothing to do with food. I'm tired of hearing that.
She's slithering around here like a wounded animal as well, which really is just bullshit. I'm so tired of being trained to feel guilty every time I have a thought that isn't "Hail Her Greatness, The Queen Of All Creatures, Human And Otherwise". In my session today, the new therap asked whom I felt understood me the least (in terms of my family.) I was suddenly so ridden with guilt that I couldn't reply. I could just see myself getting hit over the head with the board my psych says is lodged somewhere in this weak little girlbody.
(I want a strong, hug-you-till-you-cry, girlbody! I want a punching bag and gloves! I've been pricing them today, and it looks like I could get it for Christmas, although looking at all the scary sparring & competition stuff scares me. I don't like violence. I just like raw agression toward inanimate, non-personified objects. Plus, my mom's reaction when I told her what I was considering only made it all the more necessary that I get one SOON. The woman is psycho. I feel like my head is spinning in circles 24/7 and she is the one controlling the mary-go-round.
Grrargh.
While I'm ranting, more of why I was truly upset yesterday occurred to me. First there was this whole incident in the car on the way to outpatient. I was happily playing my Tracy Bonham (so not "happily" - I was a little cranky, but still), and my mom says, "You didn't have this CD at Red, did you?"
And I'm like: "No."
And she's like: "Well, that's good."
The Obedient Chorus: "Why, Mom?"
"Because...it might have added to their theory about your issue being that you were gay and hadn't come out yet."
I gritted my teeth. (Really? Why wouldn't it add to their theory that you were fucking crazy? "Mother, Mother/ can you hear me/ sure I'm sober, sure I'm sane/ life is perfect, never better/ still your daughter, still the same/ If I tell you what you want to hear/ Will it help you to sleep well at night?/ are you sure that I'm your perfect dear/ now just cuddle up and sleep tight.) "They didn't have that theory." Knowing look from Mommy-Tom. "Except in the beginning." She nodded and continued driving. But I was pissed. I was so fucking pissed about it, and I couldn't figure out why. It's not as if everyone I've met in the past three years hasn't suggested at some point or another that the problem might be related to my sexual orientation. It's not that I take any offense to being mistaken for someone who gives a care about any specific sex/gender. I just *hate* having everyone blatantly assume that if I were gay it would be a problem. What the hell kind of logic is that? I feel completely degraded by that kind of thinking. I don't know how to explain to them that I *don't know* who I'm going to love in advance, I don't currently have evidence that I discriminate in either direction, and it *doesn't bother* me. No, Mom the real problem is YOU.
She said that today, too, when we proved that I truly had been to every medical building in the tri-state area by discovering my new therapist sees patients in the same building as Bette: "Well, I guess now you can tell Bette she was right. It was your mother all along."
I didn't even bother to disclaim it. Fuck it. I'm not going to keep taking it back. When Dad refused to recognize that he had any problems whatsoever, when he believed it was everyone else's mistaken perception, *that* was problematic, too. Since he's gotten help, things between us are much better. She's not excluded from that reality. She's no longer on a perfect pedestal, and she's no longer allowed to throw the ruins at me.
I think the major reason for this building resentment is that I'm pissed at people for assuming I want or need to do the family counseling. It angers me, in an early-George-Bailey sort of way, that after years of watching people (siblings) take off, shed this insanity, and pursue their dreams, *I'm* expected to stay and work on it for two years after three months of independence. It's bullshit. I don't want to be living here again, I don't want to be their little girl, and I certainly don't want to try and convince my mom she has problems for 60 minutes a week, only to have those problems crash down *even harder* on MY head the rest of the time.
It isn't fair, and I don't feel compelled to do it. I don't want my parents right now. I don't want to make everything better. I don't even care if we're a functioning family unit. I can create family. I already have members in a created family, and I'm sick of putting up with the bullshit from my bloody blood-family.
Just because *I* decided to do the work for myself doesn't mean I'm interested in doing it for everyone else, too. If mom were working on her own shit, things might be different, but if it's just me talking to that same old brick wall, then fuck it. I don't need the headache.
On a less profane note, my new therapist is brilliant. She's perfect in a very imperfect sort of way...meaning she's a great match, but not necessarily one of those scary people who seem completely flawless. She was a little bit older than I had suggested (simply because I was looking for a more peer-to-peer relationship and thought a large generation gap might infringe) but she knows her shit, and she somehow managed to make me feel like a decent human being (a "good kid") and someone smart enough to be taken seriously (i.e. not a 16-yr-old) in the same conversation. Best of all, when I mentioned that I'd been out of RED for 2 weeks Saturday, she replied, "Wow, you really just got out." (Yeah.) "You must miss them a lot."
Hallelujah!!!!!!!!! I thanked her for it later, explaining that *no one* had assumed I might miss that place, and only one person (Tammy) had been supportive in my missing it. Otherwise, everyone was either brushing it off or being angry about it. So she wants to see me twice a week after New York and then I'll have a safe place to talk about what the transition is like and to do my grieving.
We have an ally, Jeffrey!
Oh, praise God.
relievedchord
"can you reproduce by BUDDDING?"
-random SpongeBob quote of the day :-)
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