she's a busy little bee.

the last two weeks have been telling. i fear we are approaching another explosion, but at the same time, i'm almost looking forward to some kind of movement on the whole matter. we've been at such a stalemate.

my mother called my brother's new in-laws to threaten them for "taking away her son".

she called her sister, who has a restraining order.

she mentioned in the phone call that she was coming back from rochester for a visit.

i was called by the vp of hr for my company about calls my mother has been making to their offices.

my father got one of the strangest calls she's ever made.

and, in what disturbs me the most, my "friends" on facebook have been getting random emails from my mother asking for information about my whereabouts.

i am patiently trying to process all of this. but impatiently hoping it all leads to a hospital ward.

sometimes it's better not to look.

a recent excerpt from my mother's blog, which i wish i didn't feel the need to see every once in a while. so she's alive. definitely not on medication.

i don't know why i punish myself like this.

but on to the excerpt:

"Now to the real news. I have not spoken to my daughter in about 12 months. My son broke off all communication with me around January 1st, 2010.

And now, no matter how hard I try, I cannot assure myself that either one is okay.
All sorts of imaginings annoy me, at all hours of the day.
***** is dead. ******* is going to be dead.

In some ways, I am cruising for a bruising. For they simply don't want to be found.
So, this woman who had 2 children was not allowed to continue the illusion she was a mother.

Sometimes I think of the boy in Terry Pelikan's photo--the one who is like a twin of mine. Surely she must have borrowed him from Mike Polaski.

At this juncture, I have tried:
to find out from the college; to find out from Carol *******; to find out from their father; from the **********

(Do you know why I am really nervous?) In 1992, when I left my husband and we separated--I rented a cheap room from ***** ******, a Con Ed worker. His house on Rising Lane in Hicksville New York was a refuge. Shortly after I left, ***** was killed. In a newspaper article it was a work-related accident. I am convinced his mother, whom I met, blamed me for his "accident". This is simply because my son has become involved with people he calls *****, then *****, then ********. And he has disappeared. Is it "an eye for an eye; a tooth for a tooth"?

As for my daughter, she left her job or was fired some time ago. It was kept from me. I found she was not at the address in Flatbush Brooklyn she claimed to be living. Her whereabouts have been deliberately kept from me for some time.

Do you know how stupid they brilliant kids are? They cut off a 2, a lifeline. Their secrecy has made it impossible to protect them."

with spring comes the sun.

slowly but surely, i am pulling myself out of this. i still hate my boss. i still hate my job, as it exists now. but i am making some small changes -

i'm taking a photography class.

i'm trying (again) to lose some weight. just a little.

i'm seeing friends on weekends.

i'm having them over for dinner in two weeks.

i'm taking a vacation.

not sure how long the optimism will last, but i'll take it.

she sent me an email last week asking where i was... and that she feels like we haven't spoken in two years. i didn't write back.

driving

i was in the car for a bit on sunday, and found myself thinking about my mother for the first time in a week. i could actually hear myself say, "wait, when was the last time...?" i don't know what this means. maybe i'm hurting less lately.

she was so beautiful.

i almost wanted to keep the car going all the way up to rochester just to check on her.

had to remind myself that this isn't who she is anymore. we can't go back.

happy birthday, brother.

it's funny how you can read the last six months worth of your thoughts, and realize that you still think most of them. that nothing has changed. that you are still complaining about the same bullshit.

i'm tired of all of it.

i'm sick of the depression.

but still find my lazy ass sitting at this computer, reading facebook profiles to live vicariously through others, fantasizing about the life i could be having, getting jealous over the lives my friends have, and generally telling myself over and over again in my head, "you're fat. you're a lazy bitch. and you don't deserve anything happy. no one will ever love you like this."

this speech goes on repeat for hours. hours. so i read the new york times. or cuteoverload. or shop online for clothes i know won't fit. or watch youtube videos of other people's lives. or think about vacations i could take if i just ran up my credit card a little more.

what kind of existence is this?

i find myself asking, well, even if your mother did manage to check herself into a hospital, would it make any difference in how you see yourself?

the answer, of course, is no.

this unhappiness, this depression, really doesn't have much to do with my mother. i'm starting to understand that now. it's all to do with me. the absolute self-hatred and self-abuse that i inflict upon myself.

i just want to be over it already. take a page from a photo back in the day when i was smiling for real, and not just for a customer's sake.

but it's so hard to climb out of this. i'm trying. slowly. but there's always something to make me slip right back down.

i miss my brother. spending time with him always makes me feel like i'm worth something. just look at him now. he's amazing. all those years of our heartache, of my protecting him, of my pushing and worry and anxiety that he was ok, his drug addiction and his own struggles with depression, resulted in this incredible guy. and it makes me feel like the top of the world, because i know that he validates my life. the indelible memories of us with her. the awkward-as-fuck car rides to her apartment-of-the-month. the screaming matches. the fact that he was the only person for so many years that would listen to my anxieties and fears, and could actually understand them, without just saying, "oh, i'm so sorry." the idea that someday we could heal ourselves with the new friends and families we would create. all these twisted-up memories, and hopes, and dreams that i shared with someone.

maybe that's what i'm really talking about. the ability to share my life with someone. a witness to the good, the bad, the bullshit. i want to share all these feelings with someone, but i'm unwilling to believe there's anyone who would ever want to kiss me/love me/hold me as i am.

(amazing how it is still hard to write exactly what i'm feeling. i constantly want to edit this stream of consciousness.)

he really did it?

my brother actually called my mother and told her he doesn't want her at the wedding. he has had discussions with his fiance about finding the perfect balance to keep her at enough of a distance not to piss him off too much... he's strategically positioning himself to avoid the "i'm never talking to her again" path.

this is so unlike him it almost scares me. after all this time, he's growing up. he doesn't need me as much anymore to push him in the right direction or step in for him. he's doing it on his own.

i'm so used to protecting him that i don't know how to let go of that burden.

this could potentially be the weirdest year yet.

group session for january

last night was my second time at the "kids of crazy parents" meeting. that's what i call it. so much easier than saying "adult children of the mentally ill." just paraphrase it so normal people understand what you're talking about.

there's something about this group of women that unravels me in good ways, and bad. These women are twice my age, and each has such a different story than mine. But then there are the threads that keep coming up for all of us. We all have these similar fears, and pitfalls, and shortcomings, and patterns.

i wish i could put into adequate words how much it meant to me to find real people in the world who i can truly relate to about my mother. perhaps i'm replacing the closeness i had with my brother with strangers, but the fact of the matter is that these women understand on a level that i've never experienced before. and i've spent a total of 4 hours with them. that's it. those 4 hours were enough to bring a sense of kinship so strong that it leaves me feeling stronger and more validated than i ever have before.

all the sharing, and reliving old fears, took their toll today at work. i was mostly a basket case. i continue to derail and belittle myself in every situation at work, and my super-demanding boss is not letting up on me, even after i tell her how fragile i am.

i wish i could have six months off. six months paid to go and take care of myself the way i should. if i didn't work 50 hours a week, i'd go to the gym more often. i'd try to fix some of the damage. i'd find a therapist. but my job prevents me from doing little more than sleep and eat in the hours between my shifts.

i love my job. but lately i wonder if it is an enabler in my poor choice of lifestyle.