She is more sick than me.

I am not my mother. My mother is not me.

We are similar. But not the same.
We both struggle to understand this world.
We struggle to understand, give and feel love.
I’ve been so angry at her for being complacent in her inadequacies – for not trying harder.

I’ve put so much effort into fighting against my demons.
I’ve torn myself apart and worked so hard to try to rebuild myself.
I’m doing this for my kids – so I don’t hurt them.
I will help them. I will save them.
They will not know this pain.
(Is this a futile goal that all parents have… will it backfire?)

I’m so hurt that she could not have taken this bullet for me.

But maybe she really did do the best she could.
Maybe she really couldn’t get to where I am.
Maybe a personality disorder is terribly different than a mood disorder.
Maybe she tried to take the bullet for me.
But maybe she wasn’t really sure what the bullet looked like – or where it was.

I know that she always thought very carefully about her parenting decisions.
She fed me healthy food – but only sometimes, so I was hungry.
She read with me – but it had to be books that she felt were worthy.
She was active with me – but only if she got to choose the activities.
She tried to inspire me with her love of reading – but I felt ignored while she read all day.
She tried to show me that I was worthy by doting on herself – and I felt second class.
She tried to be a firm but flexible mother. She just didn’t know how.
At least she tried…?

She tried to make us feel loved and cared for.
She just didn’t know how.
She had never felt loved or cared for.
The only emotions she really knew were painful ones.
So, she tried very hard to make us look loved and cared for,
to make us look like a loving family.

She thought that if you pretended something hard enough,
it would make it real.
She was sort of right – we looked happy.
But she was sort of very very wrong.

She taught me how to belittle and manipulate people to get your way.
She taught me how to feel justified demanding anything from anyone.
She taught me to watch people carefully, analyzing every detail and judging each action as good or bad, to learn how to be.
(should red hats be worn? only if you have blue eyes. should children be hit? never- unless your sister is really asking for it. should people smile while they walk? only at me because I am beautiful.)
She taught me that nothing was ever her fault…
She taught me how she had survived in this confusing world all these years.

My father also taught what he believed would help me survive.
But he had given up hope that it was possible to do anything but just survive,
so he taught me mostly what would make things easier for him.
He taught me to drink lots of water so I won’t feel hungry,
He let me live in a freezing cold house so that I would be prepared to go without comfort.
He taught me to ignore my body’s cues so that I would be good at not getting in the way.
He was not really a conscious parent for me.
He just sulked by, mumbling, trying to avoid conflict.

At least my mother kept hoping that life would be wonderful.
At least my mother thought about what she did,
Even if her thinking didn’t make any sense.
As least she tried something

she couldn’t have given me real emotional closeness.
she didn’t know it existed.
she still doesn’t.
she never will.
but that’s okay.
at least she tried.
i can still be her friend.

she is more sick than me.

eeyore quote

I miss my mommy

My therapist said that sometimes when kids have a chronic illness they will blame their parents for not protecting them against it.

She said that I was subconsciously deferring this blame onto my husband. I’m working on that one… it’s so not his fault.

But really, I’m consciously blaming my parents for:

1. having me.
2. not noticing how unwell my mental state and overall health was.
3. abandoning me recently.
4. making me feel horribly guilty for pushing them away.

Let’s break it down:

1. They should have been more responsible and realized that their capacity to take care of children was stretched to the brim with the 3 that they already had. Why go for 4?

2. When the junior high school called and said I’d been crying in the bathroom all week and had said that I just wanted to die… maybe they could have responded in a way other than, “Don’t cry at school, you will scare people. Goodnight.” (especially since they knew about a secret family history of suicidal depression!)

3. Maybe they could have been there for me. In general. In any way.

4. Maybe they could stop reminding me that they’re not there for me.

But maybe it’s really not their faults? Maybe they are just flawed people doing their thing and I’m misplacing my blame onto them. I dunno…

…Really!? Am I still writing posts about my stupid parents? I’m 31 years old! I have children of my own! I have a beautiful new family!

Didn’t I already figure out that I need to focus on the future and leave the past in the past? Why do I keep going back and forth?

Man, my blog has been like, so bipolar lately!
omg. Also, I’m on a seroquel hangover. fyi. Awesome way to start the week.

i have a chronic illness ecard


So, I’m feeling pretty drowsy from the Quetiapine (Seroquel) that I took last night. Thought I would take a short break from trying to work and choose a healthy snack to slow down my inevitable drug induced weight gain. So I ate a healthy grapefruit and then sat down to randomly google…

quetiapine warning

fml. that’s what I get for trying…

Let it go

“Let it go. Let it go. Turn away and slam the door… I’m never going back. The past is in the past…” 

I have a beautiful life today. It is so different than anything I’ve ever had before. It is full of feeling and love and warmth.

Last night, after bathtime, my son took my hands and started spinning me around and singing a song, Ima Y’kara Li – my mommy is precious to me. I know this sounds cheesy but as he spun me around, everything around us started to get blurry and all I could see was his beautiful sweet face smiling at me and singing a song about how much he loves me and feels loved by me.

I realized that it is ridiculous to let myself get hurt chasing love from my parents, when I have a beautiful family right in front of me who need me at my best. I am not my parents.

And I am not the person that I used to be. I am a completely different person, living in a completely different world. I used to live in an emotional war zone and now I live in an emotional garden of eden – everywhere I look there is someone safe to love. I need to keep reminding myself that I have to leave the past in the past.

I thought that maybe now that I am getting stronger, I could have a relationship with my parents without getting hurt but I can’t. They won’t let me. It sucks. But I have to go back to no contact. It’s what my new family needs and protecting them is my Prime Directive (#startrek).

“Mommy, precious to me,
Precious mommy.
My precious mommy,
Loves me very much,
Loves me very much.

I will smile at you,
I will smile,
I will sing a little song about you,
Because I love you,
I love you.”


Just when I thought it was safe to answer the phone…

I hate when the phone rings. It stresses me out. I permanently keep my phone on ‘do not disturb’ so that I don’t have to hear it ring.

But if someone is taking care of my kids and they phone me, I know I have to answer the phone – but I hold my breath until they tell me that my kids are still alive.

My sister-in-law works at my daughter’s school. Sometimes she calls me during the day.
It goes like this:

phone: ring ring. *sister-in-law’s pic comes up*.
me: shit.
me: *holding breathe* hey- what’s up?
her: hi. so.. umm…
me: what’s up? are my kids okay??
her: um… ya, they’re fine. how are you?
me: i’m fine. are they really okay?
her: ya. *speaking slowly for no apparent reason* just… about Soni, they were playing outside… and it’s a bit cold out… and her friends were running around… and they were all wearing pink gloves… and she brought her brown gloves – can you send the pink ones tomorrow?
me: *omg! that’s why you called me?!* fine. yes. -but is she okay?
her: ya, she’s fine – she was just upset about the gloves. she’s having a great day. bye.
me: *was that really just about the gloves? was she trying to cover up some catastrophic car accident/major illness/roof collapsing? omg, should i leave work now and go pick up my kids? are the roads still open or has the zombie apocalypse begun?*

Full disclosure: I’m totally procrastinating here. I’m trying to write about how I finally answered the phone after not speaking to my parents for 5 months and they managed to hurt me again.

We last saw my parents in March. That’s 525,600 minutes ago- minus a month. (How do you measure a year?)

I tried to see them a few times after March but I couldn’t make much effort with my bipolar and they live so far away (?!*?). Almost 10 kilometers (6 miles) is apparently really far for two 60 year olds with two cars.

After my canoe trip in September, I needed to focus on my future and I just stopped answering their (weekly) calls and texts. But, lately, I’ve been feeling an urge to open the lines of communication again. I miss my parents. I miss seeing my family all together. I want my kids to feel like their grandparents love them.

I know that my mom is out of town this week, so when my phone rang on Friday with my parents’ weekly call, I knew it would be my dad on the phone. I randomly decided to answer it.

It was really nice to hear his voice. Then he asked if I was going to be around on Sunday so he could come by and see the kids (who wouldn’t even recognize him). I had a vision in my head of him walking in my door and my kids running up and hugging him and him putting his arms out to them. It seemed like it would be nice.

I said, (surprising even myself) “Actually, we are going to be around Sunday morning and early afternoon. If you come by, I think that would be really nice.”

Now, guess what he said?

He said, “O darn- I’m not going to be around in the morning, I’ll be at the cottage [by himself]. I have to fix the dishwasher, and the toilet.”

that’s what happened.

I guess that’s a wrap. Gnite folks.