Clearing The Air

Sometimes I get wrapped up in the whirlwither people’s bottomlessness. I am an extremely empathic, emotional person. I’ve been avoiding my Mother like the plague. Yes, it’s true. I don’t come home most of the time because when it comes to her, I am easily impressed upon. This is my fault. I’m aware of it. I haven’t been a consistently emotionally stable person, and as I enter into a new chapter in my life, I have to be. There are other people who require this from me now, who need to know that I can be relied on, that though fragile, it takes more than a sad conversation to break me.
 
I have been witness to events lately that have confused me, hurt me, terrified me and angered me beyond reason. My last blog was written in a moment of intensely overwhelming frusteration and anger. I had to get it out, and there are few people who come here. For the person this effected, I am sorry, but you are the first person who should understand things that are said in moments of intense and vulnerable emotional outbursts. It was after your lovely freak out, after you completely undid the conversation we had before, after our massively retarded fight. I was, for the first time in weeks, so happy that I felt I understood what was going on inside you. I felt that I could maneuver myself more appropriately, and while you may not have asked for it, been more sensitive to you without complicating my own self so much. Your reaction, however, was so contrary to what had been said that I was swept up in pent anger and frusteration, and irritation that again, where I felt finally things would be okay, they then weren’t.
 
I know things are bad for you. I know you don’t ask anyone to do anything for you. But that’s the hazard of loving someone. I think that in not having love for anyone or anything, or desire or joy for anything, you’ve forgotten what it’s like to love unconditionally. I can’t help but feel these things for you, for wanting to help. The reflex of dancing around you is an involuntary one. I’m sensitive to you. It hurts me to be ignorant of your feelings, and it’s that way for so many other people. Somehow you’ll see that as us telling you how to live your life, instead of telling you that we can’t help but love you too much. We’re controlled, deeply, by our feelings for you. I was angry BECAUSE I love you so much, because I need you to be my Mother, not a caretaker, but the Mother that I’ve come to know. It terrifies me to daily remember that that woman doesn’t exist anymore.
 
It’s too late to not love you, but I wouldn’t have developed such a love for someone who is doing and behaving as you are now. It’s too painful, it’s too hard, it’s too frusterating. I chose manic depressive, because you are depressed. You are DEEPLY, DISTURBINGLY depressed. And your behavior is manic. You aren’t restricted to one constant pattern. You swing out with a new mood unexpectedly and we’re all left gawking in your dust, not knowing what’s coming next. I’m not a psych evaluator. All I know is that something is seriously wrong, so much so that I’ve been afraid of you. I never knew I could be afraid of my Mother… not now. When you’ve grown up as I have (you remember, you were there for a lot of it), when you’ve been mentally unstable like I have (and getting help actually DID help me), it stirs up a lot of scary memories that you thought would stay memories for the rest of your life.
 
I don’t hate you. I’m angry, certainly. But mostly, I love you so, with every fibre of my being, and what you’ve become in recent weeks terrifies me, makes me sad, has taken over so much of my time, energy and consideration, BECAUSE THOSE ARE ALL INVOLUNTARY REACTIONS. My life isn’t over, either. There is a conversation that you and I need to have, another time… I want to wait for the weekend. I meant, deeply, everything I have said to your face.
 
In the meantime, stop reaching for new reasons to hate yourself. Stop being sorry. Stop being ashamed. STOP IT. It isn’t fair to turn around and tell me you want to kill yourself when I’m on the way out the door. You may have stopped loving, but I haven’t. Those things hold me hostage, and it isn’t fair to do that. I can’t just leave a person I love when they threaten to kill themselves. You may not understand that, and that’s what makes me so angry.
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~ by Kд§$ị (ИovΔ) on 11/26/2008.

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