My mother is looking at me. She’s always looking at me.
At least that’s what I feel like now. There are two people in me: a Little Me, crushed and broken, and the False Me, a distorted replica of my mother. I share her behaviors, her thoughts, her lack of emotional response.
I am weak. The difficulty I have overcoming the enmeshment with my mother is mounting. Some days I feel it give slightly, and others I buckle under her weight. That’s what I feel my mother is; an enormous weight that seems to pull me inward, like she surrounds my every molecule.
She’s a Black Hole.
I’m so very heavy. I feel it in my shoulders, like my arms and hands are too bulky for my body. My hands feel swollen, pressurized from the Burden. I clench them, attempting to free up some movement.
My knees are sore from holding up my enormous self. Almost shaking. My whole body feels tired, constantly tired from this ever-present Burden. I want to give into it, it will be easier I know, it will relieve that crushing force. I also know that giving in will ruin me, and everything I have. Permanently.
I don’t want that. Truly. However, I have trouble showing that since I begin to give in and revert to old, familiar behaviors. I’ve been using food to feel better lately. I see its effects. I don’t like it, but I’m not strong enough to will myself into do anything different. Still, I’d like to.
Live by example. That’s what I’m doing. My mother spent my entire life teaching me to deceive. I wasn’t very good at it, I got caught often, but I was also taught to not have any remorse when I eventually did get caught. Such is the case today.
I spent a good twenty minutes raging at myself and my mother on a lonesome drive two weekends ago. Using every derogatory word I could think of for myself and my mother, and our behaviors. Still, I did not cry, but I was angry, and I could feel it. I felt it in my gut (and in my hand when I struck my car. I screamed so loudly, that a police officer heard me and turned to see what was the matter. He was at an intersection directing traffic three or four cars ahead of me. I felt that I needed to say all those things directly to my mother, but I doubt I am strong enough yet. Also, I want a transcript of what I said, that would have been more than a little jarring to read I’m sure.
I’ve started to write out in detail some of my memories that I think taught me or can teach me something about myself. As I write, I can remember what I’m feeling or not feeling during those interactions. In some cases, I remember actively deciding to be dishonest and regretting nothing about it. I cared only for myself and the “here and now”. Tomorrow was a new day, a blank slate. I suspect that was one of my defense mechanisms I developed as a child. Maybe tomorrow I would feel the love I needed. I didn’t actively think that, but looking back, that’s certainly a possibility anyway.
Still, even now, I find myself thinking it’s easier not to feel. And yet, my mother has trained me so well that I still let guilt creep up in me, I feel bad for her and that she’s lost a son. It’s preposterous, isn’t it?
I had to protect myself from her behaviors and I feel bad for her. Absurd.
I feel like I have to learn appropriate and effective emotions because I didn’t get the proper training, something I’ve said before… I’m more willing to read now then ever in the past, books to help me rebuild myself. I used to only read after a major argument, now I want to read all the time – and yes, time is still short after this latest death, but as I said, there was a Paradigm Shift.
I want emotion, proper emotion to come flowing forth. I’m scared of what that will mean though. And that’s a problem.