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4:50 p.m. - 05/12/02
aches like a muscle each time that it moves.
Anyone up for destroying Hallmark? I've decided to make that my next mission after E-Diets because I seriously despise holidays and these pointless ones hyped by the greeting card industry are just added pain on my plate. I hope someone, somewhere is having a better day than they would have had it not been mother's day...perhaps I can pretend that to help myself through.

I got into another "fight" with my dad today- and I didn't apologize. Honestly, I wasn't sorry, and so I didn't apologize. Unlike him, I express the sentiment only when I truly feel it; otherwise, it's just a way to try and cop out of what you did. As in, "I'm sorry, ok; so can it all be over now?"

That's pretty much what he said to me afterward. I tried to force my own feelings past the surface of my tongue, but the pain just welled up and I looked away. He went to his room and laid down in his chair, and he'll probably fall asleep soon listening to bad music from the 50s. And even though I know I'll feel bad if something happens to him, and even though he managed to apologize, defend himself, and shower me with guilt all in the same sentence- and even though I actually *do* feel guilty (that's part of why I'm so upset with him) I'm not giving up my right to be upset. Because he did something wrong, and I deserve to feel what that means until I no longer feel it. I'm not cheapening my forgiveness by handing it out prematurely. That's one of my pet-peeves about the way things are handled in this house, and damn it all, I am *not* constructing a life that allows such behavior.

I guess the sequence of events (which only made sense to me afterward, trying to explain it to myself as I would a therapist) went something like this: 1.) He chose to spend the holiday with my grandma, which meant that my mom went a little nuts and scoured the house all day, and that feelings I didn't really know I had about the whole "he's-gone-for-a-week-oh-wait-he's-never-coming-back" fiasco showed up out of nowhere. 2.) He started talking about how much money we would get if he died this year, even though we have talked *so many times* about how inappropriate and unappreciated that sentiment is, and how he better fucking quit it...which shows a complete lack of respect for me and my boundaries, leading to my action when 3.) he touched me, inappropriately, at a bad time, in a bad place. I whirled around and tossed the Wonderball I was holding at his face. Now perhaps it was a bit close-quarters and this "toss" had the energy of shock and frustration, but either way, the five minutes of him rubbing his eye and waiting for me to say I was sorry did not bode well. I understand that I hit his glasses, and (having experienced balls hitting my glasses into my nose) I understand that this is painful. But you know what? His face/ nose does not hurt anymore; the emotional punch he threw at me still does.

He's just a bastard when it comes to respecting boundaries, which is what I wanted to tell him (minus the fourth word)...but the words don't come out. I'm reminded of my mom's issue with developmentally challenged parents- how the children will eventually outgrow the intelligence of the parent- I think I've long since outgrown my father's emotional intelligence. Because even though I acted in an ill-thought "eye for an eye" manner, *I know better* and he still doesn't seem to. That's why I resort, instinctively, to idiotic methods like The Silent Treatment and physical retaliations. Because he honestly doesn't respect anything else. And the really hard part is that he doesn't even respect those. He'll touch me again, and it won't be long, and even it is "innocent" and "a joke" and blah blah blah, I still don't understand how someone can be nearly 50 years old and act with complete selfishness.

Funny, you would have thought Billy taught me that. (Sometimes my emotions overwhelm not just the person that spurred them, but anyone with a look-alike quality...Unfair.)

On the other genetic hand, my mom's been hanging in there pretty well, though she and Dad did start fighting within one minute of his return home. Since then, they've kept it pretty low-key; she's taken a lot of shit from him, actually, without really "taking" it. My issue with my mom isn't so much current as chronic: triggered leftovers.

(It's officially about three hours since I started this entry. I took a break that turned into a vacation, which almost became retirement, but if they want to be rid of me, they'll have to try a little harder, mwa ha ha, etc.)

To continue:

My mom has two more "adopted" children- one recently, and one who sent her a card addressed "to my other mother"- which really *isn't* a new phenomena, considering whenever she taught she always had kids who considered her basically infallible, who- upon meeting me- would marvel about how lucky I was. I guess it always stirs up pain because I don't understand why they find in her why I can't, or why she can't be to me what she is to them. And now, having been in a truly supportive, safe environment, it's even harder to wait before finding that again. I wonder why I'm here now; I really do. I'm glad about where I am post-red, but I don't understand this hiatus of my social life or what good will supposedly come from it...

I have a hangnail and when peeling an orange, some acid went under the nail. Now my hand is turning a reddish purple color near the thumb, and my entire arm hurts. Is there such a thing as orange poison? Suppose I'll need an amputation? I don't like the looks of this.

As for the (not-so) short break I took, it followed a reprise in the earlier fight with my dad. He came in to ask if we were ok, and I shrugged off the question, afraid to tell him not exactly, and unwilling to admit it would take time. He said something to the extent of, "I said I'm sorry. What else am I supposed to do?" and I explained how that was so typical of him- to expect it all to be okay just because he said he was sorry, even though he's obviously completely unaware of any wrong he may have committed. It's like, "I'm sorry that you're such a minefield, and I managed to set you off while tiptoeing innocently around." Which doesn't exactly make for a feel-good, cue-the-full-house-music, family moment.

So I told him what I'd refrained from saying earlier: that he doesn't respect my boundaries, that he completely disregards what I say to him when it comes to such rules. He instantly shook his head, rolled his eyes, and turned away. I said something to the extent of, "It's true! I tell you not to talk about how you're going to die, and you do it anyway! I tell you not to touch me, and you do!" to which he replied (in a tone which translates almost literally to: "you are a bitch just like your mother") "Trust me, I won't ever do it again." As if the idea of ever touching Mary The Putrescent Thing disgusted him.

I exploded: "So I'm not even allowed to say anything?! What the fuck is this?" and by then I was sobbing into the computer furniture and my mom was intervening. So I guess we talked awhile, my dad and me, and he said he really does understand it now, which doesn't change the fact that he's a child, but I think he really did get the message, and since that was the quandary that triggered the ball-throwing, I feel better about my part in it. If he understands these two boundaries now, if he really understands the pain of them, things should calm down.

I hope.

I tried to call Brea for the first time since that bad Sunday when she couldn't talk. I was afraid she wouldn't be there due to Mother's Day, but since it's kind of a fake holiday, I thought I'd try, and she answered. :) It helped with the pain about my mom to hear her voice. I understand why my mom's most recent adopted child (Inge), who's about 10 yrs younger than her, would feel the need to have Mom be "Mom" instead of sister. Even though I relate to Brea as "friend," she did so much of the dirty work around my mom issues, that she heals the mom part of me, and I think that's what Inge finds, too. Just to say, "Happy Mother's Day" to Brea so quickly I don't even think she heard made me feel better. Because it was like, "I do have a mom. A family. I am ok."

And that isn't to downplay how much I love my blood-mom, and my blood-family, because I have connections to them that are far more than genetic...but I need Brea, too, and I love Brea, too, and she has opened doors to my healing for which my gratitude is nearly impossible to express.

Unfortunately she was on her way to supervise an outing (damn my timing), so I'm supposed to call around 10:30 tonight or on Wednesday, and even though I was disappointed (the gods are against me on this) I still haven't chosen whether or not I'll take the tonight option. I feel pretty good right now, like just to hear her answer was all I needed...so I guess if I'm up at 10:30 I'll call and feel even better than I do, and if I want to go to sleep at 10, I'll sleep and feel blessed that I had a dream about her and spoke with her in the same week.

I haven't been able to think about them lately. At all. It's been unbelievably painful (more so than my purple hand) and I've avoided thoughts all together in order to sidestep the possibility of remembering them. But I'm starting to be able to now. Again. I'm starting to be able to remember. And even though it's impossibly hard, I still prefer it this way.

I prefer talking to her *and* having dreams where I indulge in catatonia just to have her attend. She puts her hand against my neck to feel the pulse, to check the beating of a heart she touches through the skin.

I'm such an author/ drama-queen. It's a good thing she's a dancer-girl. :)

love
chord

"You must not think of certain things, of those that are dear to you, or rather you must think of them, for if you don't there is the danger of finding them, in your mind, little by little. That is to say, you must think of them for a while, a good while, every day several times a day until they sink forever in the mud. That's an order." -Sam Beckett

"What if one day you come home from school and you find your whole family at war? And there's this ominous silence just waiting to be broken, and there are secret places for hiding underneath the floorboards? And everyone seems to be bracing for the subharmonic thunder of the next bomb. And everyone seems to be waiting for the cops to bust in with their guns drawn in the bleak light of dawn. It's a story as common as a penny, son- I don't think it's worth anything to anyone..." -Ani

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