Oz is Nowhere

I do not know how to forgive my mother for hating me.  My heart is aching.  I feel defective.  I cannot reconcile my actions with the outcome.  I thought I had loved her well, using all the patience and compassion in my heart.  But in the end, she only resented my efforts and now despises me for them. 

It’s so interesting how perception works.  My motives and intentions may be virtuous, but the person on the receiving end has their perception colored by their own expectations.  So, although well intentioned, because I did not meet my mother’s expectations of me, all of my actions were viewed as an affront.  I am sure this is kindled by the fact that my mother has abused prescription drugs all of her life, now drinks every day, and has a host of seething resentments eating at her spirit.  Yet knowing this, I still take it personally that she hates me.  This is not the first time either.  I have watched for years as she has focused the object of her hatred from one person to another, rotating various family members in and out of the role repeatedly.  Rather than use this information as evidence that it is her thinking that is distorted, instead I focus on the fact that since she has never hated one of my brothers it must mean that I am the defective child.  That something is inherently wrong with me.  This is what holds me back from true happiness in life-this belief that there is something inherently wrong with me. 

So, here I sit, stuck again.  I am a person who loves a good formula.  That is why I bake.  I have a belief that there is a solution for everything, and from that belief commences the search for the one path to bliss.  Just like if you mix sugar, butter, vanilla and eggs with flour and various leavening agents, you will produce a cookie, which of course, leads to bliss; you can mix various actions together and produce the exact result to solve the problem.  Everybody is happy, right? …life does not work that way.  And even though I have reached what I consider to be a mature age (more mature than I care to admit), I still struggle with that sound and true reality.  Some things cannot be rectified.  So my distorted thinking leads me to believe I should keep trying. 

I guess the problem is not whether I can find the right path to repair this broken relationship, but instead, whether I can find the right path to let it go.  And I am willing; trust me.  I am even ready.  I just don’t know how.  I want to forgive, but there is nothing to forgive.  My mother is abusive and she doesn't like me.  I am not the first and will not be the last adult child to face that sad reality.  Truth be told, she is not my favorite either.  But I love her, and I cling to the idea that my wholeness depends on our relationship being whole.  Maybe blogging about it will produce the answer- ha  ha  ha.  (emphasis on the spaces between “ha’s” for sarcastic effect)  Thanks a lot blog, you’re no help….

I just want my peace of mind back.  And my piece of mind.  I don’t want to have it filled with conversations had, hoped for, and imagined.  I know that only I have that answer and that this is just another one of those Dorothy moments, but I DO NOT want to be stuck here in Oz anymore trying to figure it out.  In the end, I just want somebody to say the equivalent to, “Click your heels together and say, ‘There’s no place like home.’”  Where is Glenda when I need her?  

Perhaps I can be content with busy for today.  Too busy to think about it.  For today, I pray for my mother's peace, contentment, and happiness.  For today, I will put this aside and focus on what good I can do.  For today, I will be happy with knowing I have loved to the best of my ability.  It is not within my control that an unexpected and unpleasant surprise is the result.  For today, I let that go.  There is no happy ever after ending; no return to Kansas; no final solution.  Today, there is only love and busywork.  I can either sink or swim, drown or grab a life line, flounder in the darkness or climb out.  Today, I have choices and I choose love.  Imperfect and unpredictable, I choose love again. 

So This is Where it Starts

So, I am starting a blog.  I have exactly 2 people who are encouraging me to do this, but since, in my mind, they are more like nagging, I count this as if I have bunches of people who are dying to see me write a blog.  And this is how I tend to view things in life.  Everything is magnified by the amount of fear and delusion that I feel around that particular event.  So I feel afraid to write and in addition, I fear that I truly have nothing of any relevance to say.  Which may actually be true, but I am exploring that.

I am a quinquagenarian (blatant and shameless attempt to utilize a word that I will never use in common speech).  

I have raised 4 children, and I suffer from a persistent belief that I can re-raise them, however, this would take their cooperation, and they have not asked me to provide this service.  This is where the self-imposed friction enters.  I guess I have spent my entire life feeling unprepared for whatever is before me and as a result, I spend my time preparing rather then living.  When what was before me becomes what is behind me, I am left with the feeling that I wasn't ready and that I have missed out.  I am not sure how to turn this around, but I am open to learning.  I guess I need a new strategy.  Wouldn't it be great if there was a strategy app that you could download and it would remind you of new thoughts to replace the old ones?  It would probably have to include some sort of electronic impulse mechanism in order to be effective, because it is just way to comfortable to proceed in the old familiar way.  

So, I also suffer from the belief that since raising four children has consumed the bulk of my adult life, I have no other life or skills, so now, I just don't know what to do with myself.  Enter the Great Recession.  If only I had started a work life 10 years earlier during the Great Boom, I could have established myself. But, it seems that my skills on a resume don't equate to a job offer.  So that is where an entire world of negative self-talk comes screaming in.  This leads to depression (for those of you who have never strolled down that street).

I also suffer from the belief that I deserve a do-over, better offer, or just a plain ole break in life.  But, I am not alone there either.  And I know that I have to generate the changes, it just seems like my "get up and go make a change" does not have the oomph it had when I was younger and more confident.  Which is another app I would like to download, the confidence app.  

So, I ended up in therapy.  Therapy.  A place I said I would never end up again.  I was in therapy to cope with my childhood, therapy to cope with transition to marriage, therapy for my marriage (which was unsalvageable), therapy for my family, therapy for my self-re-discovery, therapy for my new marriage (which is one of the greatest gifts in my life-that I routinely take for granted), therapy for grief, therapy for career, and now, therapy to find out what the hell I have been doing with, to, and for myself all these years.  

How on earth did I end up in therapy? --Well actually I was practically taken by ambulance one day while trying to find a counselor on the internet on a day when I took a wrong turn on negative self-talk street and couldn't get out of that neighborhood without directions-- See, I believed that I could not afford therapy because I am not employed and I am broke, so I had been avoiding it for quite some time.  After no less than 8 calls to various counselors whose receptionists were cold and uncaring when I asked for a sliding scale, I began to feel desperate.  So, I decided to call the crisis line.  Which seemed like a good idea, it felt like a crisis.  Was I suicidal? Not exactly, I wished I could just step out, but really didn't believe that was the answer. I just figured the crisis line makes referrals and I could get one there. The trouble came when the man on the other line did not understand English.  Of course, I would get the crisis prevention volunteer that can't speak English in the USA.  

Whah eez you zee coh? 

Nine-Zero-Zero-Zero-Two. (I made this zip code up for the sake of concealing my actual zip code from the blogosphere. I am not sure if that is necessary, but that is what I have decided-and I am trying to make decisions and stick with them) 

Oh Nih, Zeo, Zeo, Zeo?  

No, that is only 4 numbers, it is 9-3 zeros and 2. 

Oh, Nih, Thee, Zeo, Two. 

And on that went for endless minutes while the pressure in my head began to expand. 

Can you hoe foe a cupo meenah? 

Sure.  (if you are not going to talk in pigeon English to me for a couple minutes, I will hold)  Back and forth this went, 

No, notheen in that ta-oon, can you theen of anothah ta-oon? 

Four towns later and 15 minutes, and my head was about to blow.  The mixture of crisis, incredulous outrage, and fight or flight took over.  All I could think about was, if I was about to "off myself", I would have done it just to alleviate the pressure of listening to this guy NOT comprehend the pain I was in. So I said, "Never mind, I'm just gonna kill myself."  

This is where regret for the carefully developed sarcasm I had refined for all these years comes into play.  10 minutes later, the police are pounding on my door.  Well, I am not a terribly small woman, but I am 5' 2 3/4", yet now I have grown in stature and confidence, and I am trying to throw 8 police officers and two EMTs out of my house.  I finally negotiated to have one police officer and EMT stay for an interview.  (Really, you want me to answer the question, "Is something bothering you?", while 9 other men in uniform stand and watch?)  I also negotiated to be allowed to dress and say good bye to my deservedly freaked out young adult children.  When I got to the hospital I also negotiated the right to put on the gown that I was refusing to wear, without the assistance of an orderly.  How did I get myself into this mess?  Oh yeah, sarcasm.   I would like to blame my mother for that... (which is a different story)

In the end, the examining doctor agreed this was all a big mistake, I was given a referral, and I began therapy the following Monday.  Don't get me wrong, my therapist is a wonderful woman, and I am sure she is going to help me climb out of this cavern I have been trapped in for way too long.  I just don't want to have to do this again.  I just want to feel the sense of autonomy that comes from navigating life without a therapist.  One more time, I am confronted with the fact, that my perspective in life is impaired and I need help.  One more time, I must admit I have been defeated by my own demons. One more time, I failed to see how grateful I should be for the positives, like there is help available, rather than looking at all the negatives.  So what am I tasked to do? Of course, list the positives.  It's so strange how I can decide to list the positives when I am not in therapy and nothing happens, but somehow, when a therapist tells me to do it, it's going to make all the difference in the world.  We'll see.  

I am currently working on the suggestions from the 3rd visit, which includes, turn my negative thinking to positives.  I can do this for my kids all day long.  Why is it so hard to do that for me? We'll see. 

I am also supposed to get up, start my day by getting dressed, watching the news so I know what is going on in the world, take a walk so I can get out in the world, review my list of things to do, and get to work doing them.  Instead, I have created this blog.  We'll see.