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Reflection from December 12th, 2016 @ Age 35


Ugh.  Sigh

I gotta go finish getting all these Christmas decorations up for my parents, and my (biological) mother in specific regard—but I just came out of a super annoying conversation with her, and I thought I’d feel better if I took a break and came upstairs to write.  Sigh

Long story, short

Let’s see—lol…


Lol ;oD

Something about her disappointment with me, for choosing not to attend my niece’s dance recital last weekend—because I haven’t been feeling well, and if I’d’a gone and then got there and felt sick, there’d’a been nothing I could do about it and no one to help me get back home in a fashion that’d otherwise not disturb their schedule.  And so then, I told her, same thing regarding this Sunday—i.e. my cousin’s baby shower in Pittsburgh.  To which, my sister-in-law is not attending, nor my niece—and to which my father will be driving (i.e. 3+ hours there, plus 3+ hours back, in one car with both my parents in the span of one day).  That’s like—seven hours of car-trap time in one day.  To the location from which I’d cared for my bozo ex-husband post-transplant at UPMC, who then, promptly upon healing up one year later—decided to leave me on legally-filed charges of “extreme” cruelty and “gross neglect” of duty ‘cause I couldn’t seem to keep my serious mental illness under control, and never mind about the psychological abuse under which I suffered at his hand.

And, all I said, was that I was gonna play it by ear—and she got upset and I was like, “you know what?”  I was like, “if I don’t take care of me—then no one will.”

And then she starts bitching and leaves when I get back to finishing the decor for her—including moving all the furniture around and vacuuming up ‘cause of the Christmas tree.

And so, there I am vacuuming, after I did spend God (does) know how many hours getting her Dickens’ Village set out of the basement and painstakingly arranging it hours upon hours—so that I could finish today in a fashion that does look, amazing.  Sigh

And I’m just vacuuming away, you know—thinking, John disappoints people all, the time.  Doesn’t show up to family functions for the kids; never initiates the effort, even—but nobody gets mad at him, for not emotionally taking care of them.  So, it is what it is!

I get it—that’s the sociological gender role I was supposed to be playing.  ‘Cept, then I became chronically suicidal for over a decade and nobody was there to take care of me—emotionally, but they sure didn’t want me to die either.  So, this was the compromise.  I did do, the decades worth of weekly and biweekly therapy—I did do the AA and I did the intensive outpatient treatment in law school, I figured out how to develop my creative channel all by my lonesome which has helped and continues to help me heal.  And, it is what it is.  I’m not gonna play the same ol’ outdated psychologically-cruel gender role—that they want me to play.

If they wanna bitch at someone for not spending time enough with their family for selfish reasons—they can go find John and ask him all sorts’a questions.  But, if I feel psychologically ill and choose to take care of my own mental health, I’m not gonna accept negative energy from others who seek to cause me to feel guilty for doing so—because taking care of my mental health is, actually, necessary.

So, I get it—she’s disappointed in me for something, to deflect her own disappointment in herself.  I get it—but I am neither her psychologist, nor a psychological punching bag.


And, I do feel better!

Back to vacuuming!