Hump Day on a Tuesday?
Nov. 22nd, 2005 08:25 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aamusedinatxAlready I've hit the middle of my short week this week. Seems odd since it's Tuesday and I know I should just be recovering from Monday, but nope...it's a *SHORT* week! It feels good not to travel this year. It sounds harsh, I suppose and I'm not anti-holiday, anti-family, or anti-tradition. I'm just...tired. The stress is not worth it. Because I'm single and I'm the only one who has moved away, I am naturally the one who must travel. If I do or if I don't, the guilt thrown my way doesn't really change all that much. "There's no excuse for you not coming here for the holidays. Its not like you have a husband to take care of or anything." That's one of the nicer cajoling attempts my mother has made. "Your father would enjoy having you here and it would be nice if you saw him before he drops dead." Is another classic.
When I travel to Texas, I stay with my sister and brother-in-law. They are delightful people. I really enjoy their company and their hospitality. They have a nice house in a quiet neighborhood and it's *just* far enough away from my parents to save my sanity. If I had to spend even one night in their cramped apartment I would be a guest of the Texas Department of Corrections for matricide. My ability to cope with my mother's Witch/Queen BPD is in direct proportion to how much time I spend in her presence. Last year, I spent Thanksgiving in Dallas. Delta oversold the return flight, and I was stuck in Texas another day. I called my therapist and told her I was a refugee in a red state and they wouldn't let me leave! When I told my boss that he laughed for a good 10 minutes then told me not to worry about work and he'd see me Wednesday.
So this year I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying right here and I'm happy to do so. Of course this then invites the false pity. "I don't know how we're going to enjoy Thanksgiving dinner knowing you're out there broke and all alone." Mind you, while I have definitely carved back my lifestyle and reduced my salary, I am NOT broke nor am I all alone. However, I've also learned that the verbal and mental effort to disabuse her of this notion is fruitless. She lives to be the martyr and if she can play the agonized, concerned mother with such back handed comments that's her problem. Yes Mom, I'm staying in California simply to visit indigestion upon you during the holiday dinner. I'm cruel, ungrateful, a hateful daughter, yes ma'am. Your worst opinions of me are once again confirmed.
Yesterday in IM she asked me what my wish list was for Christmas. I told her I hadn't made one up yet but one thing I know I want is a paper shredder. Okay I admit that may be an odd-ball item to put on a christmas list...rather mundane really. You would have though I'd asked for a counterfeit press!! A paragraph of all-caps, red text and an abrupt log-off later and I was left staring at the screen and really wondering why I talk to this woman before coffee anyway.
For most of my life, I have watched my mother strive for the superficial. She is the greatest illusionist since Copperfield. She wants the appearance of the perfect Norman Rockwell home. She can decorate well, she can cook a holiday feast much better than she can cook your average nightly meal. She bakes wonderfully; makes wonderful pies and cakes. Of course if you compliment her on what she truly does well, she spends 30 minutes abnegating herself in front of you. Her humility is as false as the rest of her. The problem has always been...the rest of us have never felt this was done for us out of love. The stress we endured, the screaming matches, the things thrown at us, the scalding waves of emotional hate and anger that permeated our house...She would turn herself into Donna Reed--like the flick of a switch, as soon as company arrived--while the rest of us stumbled about numb, like shell-shocked soldiers too long in the trenches.
It seemed that only we noticed the fractures and the holes in her Norman Rockwell Illusion. For instance, her long elaborate 'grace' was a hipocrisy. When my little sister got involved in church as a young teen and asked to say grace one week night during dinner she got a lecture from mother about false piousness. The china shown, the silverware gleamed, the glasses shimmered. Fred Ware and his Young Pennsylvanians played on the entertainment console my father had bought for her in Japan. The rest of us sat there, numb, our faces frozen in the most benign expression possible. We fumbled as we passed things and prayed we didn't drop anything so that we weren't humiliated in front of guests by her tongue lashing.
Mother commanded the table like a Queen. People often came for dinner and left hastily afterward. It seemed no one wanted to linger. My sister and I would be in the kitchen for three hours after dinner cleaning while she sat in the living room holding hostage who ever had not already made a hasty exit. I would listen to her eviscerate those who had declined her invitation or left as soon as their fork was laid across their plate. Was it any wonder that every year it was a test to see who would accept an invitation once again? She considered herself everyone's friend but in truth she had no friends. she had social conquests and political allies. And, now, in her later years with no real friends to call upon, I feel rather sorry for her. She has my father and he will only be around for so long. She plagues my sister, whom she adores, and still treats as if my sister were the fragile premmie baby she was in 1966. My sister has grown into an incredible woman who is now capable of seeing my mother for who she is and withstanding most of the guilt my mother throws her way, but still...it's unfair.
Then again, no one ever said life was fair. My mother, I have no doubt, is convinced life is not fair and that life has cheated her out of everything she feels she deserved. The life she got is not the life she wanted. She's still waiting for that life to be handed to her because she is convinced she deserves it. She has never figured out that the life you get is the life you create for yourself and as such she has actually gotten what she deserves.
My only real guilt I allow myself...is that I feel guilty that the only active emotions I feel towards my mother most days is benign pity and other days active contempt.
--
And so I will spend my Thanksgiving giving thanks that my sister and I have broken that cycle. That in our own very different and unique ways we have seized life and created a life for ourselves. We both have close friendships with a small but solid network of people who truly love us and whom we love in return. We both know that we are envied those relationships by the mother who gave birth to us and we are at a loss to show by example, thought or deed, that she could have had the same if she had only taken care to cultivate people instead of an illusion. To this day, no one buys the illusion but her. Then again, she has to. It's all she has.
Gee...and I'm actually in a good mood today--but there is something about holidays which brings out the sad reality of 'family life' in me. My apologies if I ruined anyone else's mood.
When I travel to Texas, I stay with my sister and brother-in-law. They are delightful people. I really enjoy their company and their hospitality. They have a nice house in a quiet neighborhood and it's *just* far enough away from my parents to save my sanity. If I had to spend even one night in their cramped apartment I would be a guest of the Texas Department of Corrections for matricide. My ability to cope with my mother's Witch/Queen BPD is in direct proportion to how much time I spend in her presence. Last year, I spent Thanksgiving in Dallas. Delta oversold the return flight, and I was stuck in Texas another day. I called my therapist and told her I was a refugee in a red state and they wouldn't let me leave! When I told my boss that he laughed for a good 10 minutes then told me not to worry about work and he'd see me Wednesday.
So this year I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying right here and I'm happy to do so. Of course this then invites the false pity. "I don't know how we're going to enjoy Thanksgiving dinner knowing you're out there broke and all alone." Mind you, while I have definitely carved back my lifestyle and reduced my salary, I am NOT broke nor am I all alone. However, I've also learned that the verbal and mental effort to disabuse her of this notion is fruitless. She lives to be the martyr and if she can play the agonized, concerned mother with such back handed comments that's her problem. Yes Mom, I'm staying in California simply to visit indigestion upon you during the holiday dinner. I'm cruel, ungrateful, a hateful daughter, yes ma'am. Your worst opinions of me are once again confirmed.
Yesterday in IM she asked me what my wish list was for Christmas. I told her I hadn't made one up yet but one thing I know I want is a paper shredder. Okay I admit that may be an odd-ball item to put on a christmas list...rather mundane really. You would have though I'd asked for a counterfeit press!! A paragraph of all-caps, red text and an abrupt log-off later and I was left staring at the screen and really wondering why I talk to this woman before coffee anyway.
For most of my life, I have watched my mother strive for the superficial. She is the greatest illusionist since Copperfield. She wants the appearance of the perfect Norman Rockwell home. She can decorate well, she can cook a holiday feast much better than she can cook your average nightly meal. She bakes wonderfully; makes wonderful pies and cakes. Of course if you compliment her on what she truly does well, she spends 30 minutes abnegating herself in front of you. Her humility is as false as the rest of her. The problem has always been...the rest of us have never felt this was done for us out of love. The stress we endured, the screaming matches, the things thrown at us, the scalding waves of emotional hate and anger that permeated our house...She would turn herself into Donna Reed--like the flick of a switch, as soon as company arrived--while the rest of us stumbled about numb, like shell-shocked soldiers too long in the trenches.
It seemed that only we noticed the fractures and the holes in her Norman Rockwell Illusion. For instance, her long elaborate 'grace' was a hipocrisy. When my little sister got involved in church as a young teen and asked to say grace one week night during dinner she got a lecture from mother about false piousness. The china shown, the silverware gleamed, the glasses shimmered. Fred Ware and his Young Pennsylvanians played on the entertainment console my father had bought for her in Japan. The rest of us sat there, numb, our faces frozen in the most benign expression possible. We fumbled as we passed things and prayed we didn't drop anything so that we weren't humiliated in front of guests by her tongue lashing.
Mother commanded the table like a Queen. People often came for dinner and left hastily afterward. It seemed no one wanted to linger. My sister and I would be in the kitchen for three hours after dinner cleaning while she sat in the living room holding hostage who ever had not already made a hasty exit. I would listen to her eviscerate those who had declined her invitation or left as soon as their fork was laid across their plate. Was it any wonder that every year it was a test to see who would accept an invitation once again? She considered herself everyone's friend but in truth she had no friends. she had social conquests and political allies. And, now, in her later years with no real friends to call upon, I feel rather sorry for her. She has my father and he will only be around for so long. She plagues my sister, whom she adores, and still treats as if my sister were the fragile premmie baby she was in 1966. My sister has grown into an incredible woman who is now capable of seeing my mother for who she is and withstanding most of the guilt my mother throws her way, but still...it's unfair.
Then again, no one ever said life was fair. My mother, I have no doubt, is convinced life is not fair and that life has cheated her out of everything she feels she deserved. The life she got is not the life she wanted. She's still waiting for that life to be handed to her because she is convinced she deserves it. She has never figured out that the life you get is the life you create for yourself and as such she has actually gotten what she deserves.
My only real guilt I allow myself...is that I feel guilty that the only active emotions I feel towards my mother most days is benign pity and other days active contempt.
--
And so I will spend my Thanksgiving giving thanks that my sister and I have broken that cycle. That in our own very different and unique ways we have seized life and created a life for ourselves. We both have close friendships with a small but solid network of people who truly love us and whom we love in return. We both know that we are envied those relationships by the mother who gave birth to us and we are at a loss to show by example, thought or deed, that she could have had the same if she had only taken care to cultivate people instead of an illusion. To this day, no one buys the illusion but her. Then again, she has to. It's all she has.
Gee...and I'm actually in a good mood today--but there is something about holidays which brings out the sad reality of 'family life' in me. My apologies if I ruined anyone else's mood.
