Running Aground

Anybody who thinks that delving into the self is a happy, fun time is seriously mistaken.

I am currently stuck on the rock of one particular issue. Every time I try to navigate around it, I end up right back on the shore of it. I don’t want to deal with it; thinking about it in a rational way brings up a lot of not-so-good feelings. But I keep coming back to it. Maybe I have to deal with it, which is not a very good-sounding prospect to me.

I feel like an idiot. I’m sitting here afraid of something that is (I suppose anyway) organic to me. I wish I hadn’t opened the door to it, or woke it up or whatever, but it’s here now, so I’m trying not to cry over spilled milk.

But I’m afraid. I’m very afraid of the things that come up when I think about this.


The Rambles of an Insomniac

Here I am again, ladies and gentlemen! Not sleeping again. But not to worry, there’s some catnip tea in my immediate future. I’ve been trying not to rely on it too much, so I spend a lot of time not sleeping.

So, what is on my insomniatic  mind this great,  jumping-up morning? I don’t really know. I feel sad right now.

I feel like I haven’t separated myself from my childhood. Okay, so it wasn’t glaringly bad, but it was still hard to get through. I look back and I see all this wasted time. Times when I needed or wanted some comfort and my parents either couldn’t or wouldn’t (it’s hard to determine which it was) give it to me. Times when I wanted to be as “normal” as I could be, because my parents seemed to like my “normal” siblings better. Times when I wanted to talk about some of the things I was feeling, or things about my inner life, and I couldn’t because there was no one who would listen without judging or trying to “fix” me.

Just wasted time, all of it.

I wish there was someone to blame, but maybe it’s nobody’s fault. Maybe my parents just couldn’t handle a child like I was. I wasn’t a bad child, but maybe I was too insular for my parents, or too cerebral, or too something, and they couldn’t find or get the skill set to handle it.

And I guess it’s that thought that’s keeping me awake right now. Maybe I can’t be around people at all. Maybe I’m just “too” everything, and people know it and can’t handle it.  Maybe I just don’t have the right skill set to deal with anybody.

My mother always told me that I have unrealistic expectations of people, that I expect people to be more than they can be.  That’s not exactly true. I want people to be the best they can be. I have perhaps unreasonably high expectations of myself.

I want to be over this. I mean, yes, it happened. I was hurt and put down for years. Okay, but so were other people. I was told I was nothing, and marginalized and belittled for years. Fine, but I’m not alone in that boat, either. Other people have gotten over it. They have survived; they’ve gone on to build meaningful lives.

So why am I the only one whining about it? Where’s my meaningful life? Maybe I don’t know how to build one, so I’m wallowing in the past in order to feel better about myself.

Maybe I’m just what my mother told me I was for all these years. I’m an adult who just can’t hack it in the world, and I should simply pack it in.

Goodnight all. I’ve got tea to drink.

Well, Damn

Just when I thought that the drama with my parents was finally getting better, there’s this.

Now,  my parents are off work.  They spend 12 to 16 hours of their day off at the casino, every day. If they’re off work, that means that my mom can cook and take care of the house. Which means, ladies and gents, that I am off of house duty.

At least, so I thought.

My parents come in from their rigors of gaming and my mom looks in the sink. “I just knew you guys,” she said–looking directly at me– “would cook this. I guess I was wrong.”

“Cook what?” I ask.

She holds up a package of ground beef. “It was sitting here in the sink all this time. I just knew you guys (still staring right at me, even though Colonel Crazy and his wife were sitting on the couch)  would cook it.”

“If you had called, I would have, ” I said. “As it was, I didn’t even know it was there.”

She goes off and then my dad comes up, eyeing the ground beef. He, at least, is pretty direct. “Why didn’t you cook the ground beef?”

“I didn’t know it was there.”

“Yeah right. It was sitting in the sink all day; how could you not know?”

“You guys are here. That means I’m off. When I’m off, I don’t worry about dinner, so that means I don’t notice when things get taken out, or what happens to them.”

“But you could’ve cooked it,” my dad says.

“If you guys had given me a call to let me know there was something waiting to be cooked, I would have,” I said.  “But you didn’t, so I didn’t.”

Seriously? Just… seriously?  They know that they are going to want dinner when they get home, so they should either cook it themselves or ask me to cook, especially if there’s something thawing already!

They’re here, so that means I don’t have to worry about cooking. If I get hungry I can eat something; I have my own food, and I have money if I don’t want to eat my own food.

But to just assume I’m going to cook, knowing that they’d be coming home at some point (most likely already full since they eat at the casino anyway)? To just assume–no asking. They didn’t even call me, they just assumed.

I am totally pissed off about it.  I just want a bit of a break. They are home (meaning not working), so I figured no worries. Was that wrong? Why be mad at me because apparently my psychic hat is broken and I didn’t pick up that they took something out and wanted me to cook it?

Drive-by Posting

Long time, no post.

I’ve been doing some deeply personal work this last little while.  Lots of dreams, lots of searching. I haven’t forgotten this blog, no worries.

I don’t know if I’m making progress or just digging deeper holes, but things are moving.

Dear God, make Me a Bird…

I wish I could disappear for a while.

My parents live in Denial World, where they are just having fun and letting off stress, and I am being over-critical and trying to judge them for taking on “the only fun they have together”.

While they are living in their alternate universe, I’m trying to hold the house together, keep food on the table, make sure (as much as I can, anyway) that bills are being paid, keeping track of the to-do list, and keep myself sane and relatively happy.

I’m failing at that last part, actually. 😦

I have backed down on a lot of the things I do normally. It’s just that nobody is stepping up to take care of it since I’m trying not to. My mom is back to calling me lazy and giving me heavy sighs when she comes home to dishes still in the sink, as though I’m the only able-bodied person who is at home to take care of the dishes.

I want to care more about it (or rather, I feel like I should want to care more about it), but I’m just tired. I wish I could cry, but if I start that, I’ll never stop. Besides, tears have never helped.

I need a vacation. I need to be gone from this place.

Calgon, Take me Away!!

I kind of–not exploded, maybe went on a full boil–with my mom a couple hours ago.

We were coming in with groceries after a full day of being out and about. There’s a full sink of dishes and brownies just left out on the counter. My brothers weren’t there at the moment, but they had been there, and were coming back.

Let’s go with trusty script format from here.

Cast: Me, Keeper of the Holograms,  Volcano

Me (looking at the dishes): What’s the point of all the cleaning? Nothing, from the look of it.

KotH: What’s your problem?

Me: I’m highly annoyed.

KotH: Why? I do all this too–in fact, I wash more dishes than you do! You can’t get mad at the boys for this.

Me: Why can’t I? You should make them clean up.

KotH: I can’t make them clean up, just like I can’t make you.

Me: Yet I do clean up.

KotH: Only because I pay you. (Yes, she really said that).

Me: You think that’s the reason I do it? Ha! If the money was the reason, I’d demand more of it.  I do it because I don’t want to live in squalor. But I’m tired of getting no help. I clean and they come in and mess up–or worse, they bring their kids here and allow them to mess up. Do they clean it up? Do they even offer to clean it up before they see me about to do it or doing it? Do they even say thank you? No.

Volcano: I admit that they don’t. But I do! Sometimes.

Me: *charged silence and a look*

KotH: All I can do is talk to them. I can’t make them do anything.

Me: *charged silence and a longer look*

And scene.

She told me just now that she talked to the boys and they “said they’d do better.” My response? “Yeah, that’s what they say.

I just don’t know what to do anymore. I’ve backed off on the cleaning, but things just stay and nobody notices. I cleaned the refrigerator out two days ago. Do you know when it was cleaned last? A bit over a month ago–when I cleaned it after being unable to fit anything else in it. And what does my mom say when she noticed it was cleaned? “Oh, I was going to do that.”


You could have cleaned it out at any point within the last month if you were going to do it, woman!

Can I turn them all into slugs or something? Please?

Self-Acceptance Conundrum

Just lately, I’m struggling with self-acceptance. How do you start? Can you learn it?

Lots of people say that you just do it, just make it so. Okay, but how? Does it begin with a core acknowledgement of how you are inside, or is it something else?

I feel confused and ashamed that this is bothering me so much.

I need a place to stand on; I feel like there’s no firm place to set my feet.