Sunday, October 09, 2011

Aging

I stare in the mirror and I don't like what I see. The wrinkles around my mouth tell me I am getting older. I didn't ever think I was a vain person, but these wrinkles are telling me otherwise.  I think I have "laugh lines". That's good, right?  I would rather have laugh lines than frown lines I suppose.


I was watching "Best of the 00's" on VH1 last night. I had not even HEARD some of the songs on that list. That must mean I have been listening to the Adult Contemporary stations. Nor had I had heard of half of the actors or comedians who were commenting on the songs. That's not good, right?


I have always had a old soul.  I didn't want to have a old face too. 



Wednesday, October 05, 2011

Again

I feel as though I have a huge lump in my throat. You know the kind where all the unshed tears sit, damned up awaiting release. However, I am trying hard to just keep it together—be strong, stoic and emotionless. I am afraid if somebody looks at me cross-eyed I will either start sobbing or screaming. Which is better? Angry is certainly more socially acceptable than crying—to a very fragile and complex degree.
People in my life are constantly disappointing me. I can see the common denominator is moi. Here is what is happening in my brain right now this second…. In no particular order:

I cannot believe that my Mom tried to kill herself again. Again. I am glad she is at the hospital. I am full of fear that she will not receive the help she needs. What kind of help does she need? RX Drug detox, pain relief, mental health, crisis intervention?—the list is long and I don’t know what drove her over the edge. This time. I feel so very guilty. I am heavy with guilt. I knew she wasn’t doing well, but I thought she was just being annoying and negative. I didn’t want to acknowledge that she had got to the point of a nervous breakdown. Again. I am terrified if she dies I will become a orphan. I am terrified of being a orphan. I am 41-years-old and still need my mother.

I am so angry at my father that I could literally kick the shit out of him. He has started smoking massive amounts of pot. Again. Just like when I was a kid. Pot stole my childhood, my innocence, my ability to believe there are kind and beautiful people out in the world. I have worked so hard as an adult at forgiving him for his past indiscretions, at trying to meet him where is he today and not where he was back then. And he has betrayed me. Again. He’s back to smoking pot. Again. I am disappointed, frustrated, but mostly I am just angry. I have anger bubbling up from my behind my eyes, under my skin, and through my tear ducts.

My sisters annoy the holy living shit out of me. Again. Rinse and repeat. Tawnia can’t help that she is so mentally ill. However, I have a hard time accepting that she can’t control her meth use or her abuse of alcohol. I grieve for her as I know that she is barely holding on by a thread. Her sane days are few and far between. I tried so hard to fix what was broken in her soul, to stand up and scream and get someone to notice she needed help. Again. And yet here I am. Again. And she’s somewhere between here and there. Again.

Sarah is just nothing but a controlling, psycho, jealous, angry, spiteful, spoiled selfish woman. Even though she is my sister I can stand her. I can’t tolerate the sound of her voice, her facial expressions, her manner of speaking, her neediness, her ability to always get her way no matter the circumstance, her cold heart, her need to always be in charge. Am I not a horrible awful person? I have tried so hard with her. She is like me, I am afraid, absolutely unable to satisfy or appease. I do not have the energy or the desire to detail her latest shenanigans. I am quite decisive in the fact that she annoys the holy living crap out of me, and that she is herself quite unstable. I grieve I will never have a sister like the ones you see plaques about, you know the ones “I didn’t choose you as a sister, but I choose you as my best friend….” I don’t even have a sister that I have a polite relationship with.

My dear friend, whom I adore, has stopped speaking to me. She and I are complete and total polar opposites. She is tough, steady, strong, sturdy, and unflappable. It is very hard to not take her silence personally. I fear I have exhausted her beyond reason. She has texted me that she is going through difficulties that she doesn’t want to discuss nor have a conversation with me with me to even exchange pleasantries. I am trying so hard to give her the space she has demanded. But, I feel lonely, sad, pathetic, and betrayed by her. I miss her friendship and her texts. Ultimately I know that it, probably, has nothing to do with me, but it still hurts like hell. How do I recover from a wound that hit this close to my heart? How?

And now I am just left feeling broken. Alone. Abandoned. Sad. And grieving. Again.